


Stand

by Araceil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, 나 혼자만 레벨업 - 추공 | Solo Leveling | Only I Level Up - Chu-Gong, 나 혼자만 레벨업 | Solo Leveling (Webcomic)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Anxiety, BAMF Harry Potter, Child Labour, Child Neglect, Demisexual Sung Jin-Woo, Demisexuality, Depression, Disaster Bi Harry Potter, Drama, Dursleys' A+ Parenting, Friendship, Go Gun-Hee is best Grandpa, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Horror, Hunter Dudley Dursley, Hunter Harry Potter, Hunter Hermione Granger, Hunter Ron Weasley, Jin-Woo Needs a Hug, Jin-Woo Needs a Slap, Light Novel, Magic shenanigans and fuckery, Master of Death Harry Potter, More tags to be added, Necromancy, PTSD, Pairing undecided, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Manhwa, S-rank Harry Potter, Secretly a Dork Jin-Woo, Spoilers, Touch Aversion, Touch-Starved, UK Hunter Association, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding, alternative universe, child endangerment, illegal hunting, minor Mahou Sensei Negima?! crossovers, no betas we die like men, reincarnation gone wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25130719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araceil/pseuds/Araceil
Summary: When Stonewall Sixth Form's Harry Potter Awakened as a Hunter, more than just his mana appeared. With memories of a previous life as a magic user, stuck once again with his abusive relatives, he resorts to illegal hunting in order to earn money for his freedom. But like all great plans when they're confronted with the infamous Potter Luck - they rarely work out the way they are intended to. Especially when the whole 'Master of Death' thing becomes a little too.... literal.
Relationships: Go Gun-Hee & Harry Potter, Sung Jin-Woo/Harry Potter (maybe)
Comments: 1107
Kudos: 2876
Collections: Ashes' Library, Great Harry Potter Crossovers, HP Crossovers Fanfics - WIP





	1. Chapter 1

When it happened, all he could think was – thank god he hadn't been in class.

Followed quickly by – that hurt.

And – my head feels weird.

He knew almost immediately that his Awakening had not been standard. Dudley had bragged about his own often enough, regaled his parents, his relatives, and his friends, about it often enough that Harry could have quoted him from memory – so he knew. He knew his had been weird. It was only supposed to happen _once_ afterall.

But like a piston, or a double-barrel shotgun, it hit him not once but twice.

And left him feeling like he'd been struck with stomach flu and been so sick that he'd bruised his internal organs from vomiting too hard. But no. He hadn't done anything of the sort. He was crouched in the underpass that he cut through every day on his way to school, magic fizzling visibly across his skin, all the lights blown out around him, broken and melted plastic splattered and stinking across the paving slabs around him. That much magic in a civilian area, and the Ministry would be after his bollocks for fashion accessories.

He staggered to his feet, swallowing down his nausea and his magic, tamping them both down as far as he could as he wobbled his way out of the tunnel, taking the accessibility slope rather than the stairs for a change, hoping that if he got far enough away whoever showed up would miss him. The Hunter's Association, no the Ministry? They would want to recrui-rrest him. Wait. Recruit? Arrest? His head felt like it was going to split open, stuffed with too much hot cotton wool, it was too small for what was inside, and it _throbbed_ like fire. He wanted to sit down, but he didn't care. Couldn't stop. It was dangerous out in the open. He shouldn't risk it. If the Association told the Dursleys they would slave him _out_. They wouldn't dare though, Dumbledore – was dead, he lived on his own in Grimmauld Place, why was he worrying about the Dursleys? Because he was still living at Number 4. Dudley may have gotten lucky and attended a boarding school, but there was no way in hell Petunia or Vernon would shell out for him to attend one even if it got him out of the house for most of the year. Stonewall was within walking distance. And – he'd never attended Stonewall though. Never even _seen_ it. He went to Hogwarts. He'd _graduated_ Hogwarts!

He was seeing double, and he wanted to vomit. It felt like he was physically _sweating_ magic.

He was definitely going to get caught at this rate. He needed to hide somewhere. Somewhere long enough to calm down to –

The swirling glint of something powerful in the graveyard behind the church dragged his attention away from putting one foot in front of the other mercilessly. A Dungeon Gate. One that hadn't been found yet. Recently opened? There were no cordons. No one had shown up to close it down, or prevent access. Didn't time pass differently in the Dungeons? Some of them went faster, others slower. Supposedly every hour spent inside was a day outside, but the reverse was also true. Either way, outside of a Gate, if the Dungeon wasn't dealt with before seven days elapsed, an Inverse would occur – where all the monsters remaining within the Dungeon would be vomited out into reality. And when that happened, the death toll was often into the hundreds, even when it was a weak gate.

He staggered towards it.

It was small, and still pale. Freshly formed.

Dudley had Awakened last year and forced Harry to help him with his homework during the summer under threat of a broken arm, so he'd ended up researching all sorts of Gate, Dungeon, Hunter, and Monster classes, even several different weapon classes and other useful items. It had actually been interesting. So he knew at a glance this was only an E-ranked dungeon. Lethal for a normal human, but he had Awakened. Even the weakest of the weak could handle this. And it wasn't like Harry intended to go far in. He handled Voldemort. And the Basilisk. He'd be fine. An E-rank Dungeon would have goblins at the best, spell-less House Elves with knives.

He grabbed a sturdy looking tree branch from behind one of the graves, roughly snapping off the stray twigs before forcing some of the overflowing magic into it, immediately feeling less queasy as he did so.

So that was the problem.

Too much magic in a too small container!

If he went into the Dungeon, blew his load, and left again – he would be fine! The magical surge would go unnoticed by the Associanistry's Underage Magic department and he wouldn't get expelled from Hogwa- ...no. He wouldn't get forced to work for the Association?

He staggered into the gate, using the branch as more of a walking stick as he staggered in.

Magic washed over him like hot water, like static electricity, and ice, all at once. There were no words to describe the physical sensation of stepping through a Gate. It was stepping through worlds after all.

The tunnel he stepped into was dark and silent, stone and slime and moss. But it was devoid of life. And he didn't care about much else as he sat down next to the Gate and put his head in his hands and just let himself _calm_. He was still shivering and sweating magic, his school shirt was soaked through – why the fuck was he in a school shirt though? He didn't _understand_. Of course he'd been in his school shirt, he just finished school for the day, what else would he be wearing? He would have thought it'd be his robes since he was an Auror. But.

His head hurt and he had two different, conflicting, sets of memories.

Sat in the dark of the tunnel with only the light of the Gate, Harry could sense that he was safe. Or as safe as one could get within a Gate. His bleeding magic was covered up by his proximity to the Gate, and he hadn't done anything to summon any light or made any noise to disturb the occupants of the Dungeon so they hadn't even realised he was there. And in the dark, unless they could physically _smell_ or _see_ him, huddled as he was on the floor against the wall in a wet crack of stone, cushioned by moss, he was practically invisible in the dark.

It was blessedly cool in there.

He leaned against the wall and dropped his head against the chill stone and moss with relief. He felt queasy and hot with too much magic, but until he sorted his head out he didn't want to run the risk of using anything and drawing too much attention. One half of him said he could handle anything this place threw at him, the other said he hadn't had an evaluation yet so going into an unranked Dungeon to pick a fight was practically suicide.

He needed to figure this out.

Okay.

One set of memories. The ones that correlated to him most. The Dungeon Gates, the Awakening, attending Stonewall, still living with the Dursleys. He would start there and work his way back.

He was... Harry James Potter, age fifteen, Year ten student of Stonewall Sixth Form, Class Venus-South. He... Was good at PE, and Geography. And he actually liked History class. Mister Warren made it interesting. They were covering the Incas and the Aztecs right now. His homework was to write a paper on his deity of choice, and the festivals and rituals that surrounded them. He had been planning on using the God of the Smoking Mirror because he sounded badass. He had a secret part-time job working at the green grocers on the highstreet stacking shelves where Aunt Petunia would never find out. He still lived with his Aunt and Uncle. He slept in Dudley's second bedroom, having upgraded from the cupboard when he got too tall for it. His parents were dead, but it hadn't been at Voldemort's hands. Aunt Petunia told him for years they were unemployed drunks who got what was coming to them. One of his classmates looking to bully him dug up the truth of how they were Hunters who got killed on a Raid that went wrong, a B-rank Gate that turned red, and locked them in until it Inverted and spewed snake monsters out into the Isle of White. He was desperately saving up every last penny he had in order to escape the Dursleys the second he turned eighteen – when he finished with Stonewall and his standardized education completely.

But he was also... Harry James Potter, age twenty, Ministry of Magic Department of Magical Law Enforcement Junior Auror, the Boy Who Lived, the Man Who Conquered, the Master of Death. Godfather to Teddy Lupin, bestfriend of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, engaged to be married in two years once Ron had saved up enough money to buy a home for them. He had broken up with Ginny so that they could both focus on their respective careers, but remained her avid supporter as she made tsunamis in the International Quidditch League, and joined up with the Hollyhead Harpies as one of their first-string Chasers. He.... he had remodelled Grimmauld Place, and lived there quietly with Kreacher who was getting on a bit but still determined to feed him up because he was far too skinny. If only he hadn't taken such a disliking to Molly, Harry thought the two would have gotten along famously in their similar drives to make sure everyone would have been better off _rolling_ away from the dinner table than walking. He survived the Final Battle with Voldemort at Hogwarts when he was seventeen, but didn't bother returning for his eighth year like Hermione, he couldn't walk through that school anymore without remembering the lives lost and the horrors he'd seen. He just couldn't. So he'd gone in for Auror training immediately. He'd been on the run, attended Hogwarts as a Gryffindor. Been Quidditch Captain too. He had been banned from Quidditch before hand because of Umbridge. Last he heard of her, a Dementor got her while they were fleeing the Ministry after she was knocked unconscious. His parents had been Aurors, they were murdered by Voldemort, and Harry had been forced to live with the Dursleys, but Hagrid and Hogwarts had saved him when he was eleven and took him away. He just had to go back every summer.

Right.

Right, he had it now. Kinda.

He looked down at his clammy wet shirt, at the embroidered grey stone wall and black monogram that was his school emblem on his shirt pocket. He was not 'Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived', he was Harry Potter from 10VS.

And he'd just walked into a _fucking Dungeon what the fucking shIT HAD HE BEEN THINKING?!!_

He _didn't_ inhale, he didn't jerk upright, he stayed _very, very still_.

He stayed very still, and opened his eyes to a completely empty cave, only the faint blue light of the gate provided illumination, and he couldn't see anything moving in the shadows or the light. No sound of movement on the stone, the moss, or the slime. But still. He gripped the branch he'd brought in with him in both hands, weirdly comforted by the feeling of the magic reverberating back to him within it.

It was a trick the Boy Who Lived picked up from Mister Ollivander. Magic was magic at the end of the day. What was producing that magic didn't matter. The stick was just a way of focusing it. The core didn't produce the magic, but gave it sentience and pulled it from the wizard. The Boy Who Lived worked out how to pull his own magic, which left him able to use any old stick to direct it.

Harry had Awakened. And he was _dripping_ , literally, with what was known as 'mana' here, but magic to the Boy Who Lived.

It was quite obvious, he felt, that he had Awakened as a Mage Type.

Just what rank was he?

He wanted to know but he couldn't risk getting an evaluation. As a minor, the UK Hunter's Association was required by law to inform his guardians of not only his Awakening but also his rank, he did not want the Dursleys to know anything about this. His memories between the two separate families revealed that Dumbledore's influence had truly managed to curtail a lot of their more vile behaviours with fear, Petunia and Vernon were too scared of the 'freaks' to be truly awful to him. Without that threat, he could very easily see himself being forced to parttake in illegal raids just to end up giving them the money earned....

It was illegal for someone under the age of eighteen to parttake in a Raid.

It was also illegal for someone under the age of eighteen to drink or buy alcohol.

The two things were just about equal when it came to people willing to look the other way. It would all depend on rank and payment.

Harry was still staying as still as possible, but now even his breath stalled.

Killing just one monster in a low rank dungeon and harvesting its crystal would net him anything between fifty to a hundred pounds. He could.... he could get enough money to move out and away from the Dursleys before he even finished Stonewall. And he could do it legally if he got their written permission – ah but no, he was too young. Any landlord would request a guarantor on his rent payments, and if Vernon wasn't willing to do so then he was _fucked_. Or he could just run away, get a tent, set himself up somewhere, use the school showers, and then get himself assessed – that way when he graduated he could _get_ a place and the landlord would waive the guarantor in place of support from the Association?

It would depend on his rank at the end of the day, but the Association was always hurting for Hunters. The Guilds could offer more money and so Hunters either moved out of the country or ended up rejecting government paid jobs with the Association for celebrity levels of income from Guilds.

He didn't care about celebrity levels of money. But...

His own flat.

Enough money to eat what and when he liked.

Maybe a pet. Hedwig had been wonderful but she had been more of a means of communication than a companion. He would like a dog. Ahh, probably not. If he was going to be a Hunter, a cat would probably be best if he wanted a pet.

Ron laughed at him in Hogwarts when he confessed his desires to have a nice place to sleep, good food to eat, and someone to cuddle, he stopped laughing and got teary when Harry admitted he was jealous of Mister and Missus Weasley because of that. He wondered suddenly if they existed in this world, the same but different, just like him and the Dursleys. What about Hermione and Dumbledore and Hogwarts? Voldemort?

He heard skittering in the darkness and practically held his breath as the shadows moved.

It shifted, and he could just make out the shape of it. Goblin.

This was a Goblin cave.

Not the kind that manned the counters at Gringotts, but green and violent, the size of a small child, armed with sharp knives. It trotted a little further into the light, revealing sickly emerald green skin and vivid scarlet-orange hair, a loin-cloth, and a necklace of what looked like teeth. It was sniffing the air and the ground, wheezing disgustingly as it crawled around, lips drawn back over dagger like sharp teeth.

He hadn't been found yet. But it was only a matter of time.

Should he try to fight? Or should he run?

Harry watched the creature. Normally he would have decided to just leave, he was invading here, the goblin had every right to defend itself and its home. But, this was a Dungeon and a Gate. If a Gate wasn't closed within seven days, all the monsters inside of it would spew out into the real world – and that accompanied with it a terrible death toll.

No matter what life it was, he wasn't a violent person by nature.

He didn't go _looking_ for trouble, it often went looking for him though. And just like now, as the Goblin's head shot up and around towards him, it would inevitably find him.

It screeched.

Voice echoing down through the tunnels and Harry scrambled to his feet, still feeling queasy and stuffed with too much magic as he stumbled.

Mage-type hunters had elemental magic. The most common of which was fire.

Goblins were the weakest of the E-rank monsters.

No matter what element he used, he should be able to deal with it. An E-rank hunter could still kill a Goblin even if a baseline human couldn't.

The goblin leapt at him, shrieking, and Harry swung his branch wildly at it with a yell.

The air around him turned to knives and tore the goblin to shreds.

Blood exploded through the tunnel and wind tore through the tunnels in a howling _gale_.

Harry yelled, magic leeching out of him, stone and moss flying through the air as the tunnels turned into a typhoon of magic and air, distant screeching barely audible over the howling wind.

He toppled back onto his ass, feeling.... feeling _fine_. Normal. He felt _good_. A bit tired, but like he'd just gotten off his broom after a good Quidditch practice, snitch in hand. Not – not like he'd been suffering with stomach flu for a week.

The tunnel was silent.

Not completely but.... quiet.

All that could be heard were the sound of rubble and stone settling after a collapse.

Had – had there ever been a Wind Mage? And – what was that power? He wasn't even tired and – and the whole place was like this.

Nervously he got back to his feet, clutching his branch tightly, and ventured closer.

The goblin was scattered across the floor in tattered ribbons. It... it looked like it had been stuffed into a blender and then _splashed_ across the stone floor. Not even the knife survived. In fact.... the only thing that did was glowing ever so faintly in the darkness, splashed with gore, and still a plastic white.

A magic core.

He scooped it up, grimacing a little at the blood, and examined it. Diamond shaped with blunt rounded edges, it felt warm in his hand, and buzzed ever so faintly with magic. Weak monsters only ever gave out weak cores, but stronger ones were said to possess more than one sometimes, all of them high quality. If he recalled Dudley's homework correctly.... E-ranks were worth between fifty to a hundred. D-ranks a hundred to five depending on where you exchanged them. C's though... one thousand, _minimum_. Just a single B-rank core could go for three thousand at minimum. And A-rank cores.... Harry couldn't recall the market value for an A-rank core off the top of his head right now. It was something ridiculous. Thirty-thousand? Or was it fifty?

He could hear distant shrieking in the darkness and shoved the core into his pocket.

Time to go.

He only wanted a place to ride out the worst of his Awakening until he stopped feeling so damn sick. He felt fine now. He should get out of here, he still had no idea if time was sped up on this side of the Gate or the other and he didn't want to run the risk of getting caught by the Association somewhere that he shouldn't be.

He fled, and burst out into sunshine, in the graveyard, to the sound of bird-song.

A quick glance around showed that there was no one around, and there were no cars or vans pulling up outside the church about to cordon off the area. A check of his phone (battered, second hand, pay as you go, calls and texts only) showed that the time was still before five pm. No time had passed. At least, not enough to be noticeable. The Association would likely still be on their way to where he'd Awakened – could he run the risk of them being too interested in his Awakening that they would notice the Gate?

He began to key in the required number that everyone learned as children, the report line.

“ _National Hunter's Association Report Line. If you would like to report a Gate Opening, please Press One_ ,” an automated female voice announced, “ _If you would like to book – you have pressed... One. We will now put you through to our Gate Support Team. Please stay on the line,_ ” she continued robotically before hold music, the typical Vivaldi classical strings, began to play. He chewed his lower lip and headed for the other entrance of the graveyard, the one that lead to the small green and the old Social Club, he could head down Twyford Ave and then up Magnolia to get to Privet Drive. It was before five. Could he drop by the small bank-branch next to the post office and give them the magical core? If he made up some bullshit excuse about tutoring a local hunter's kid and the guy not having any cash on him just then.... if they didn't buy it he'd just shove it in his lockbox and hide it like he did everything else.

“ _Hello?_ ” a male voice on the phone called.

“Yes? Hello!”

“ _Hi, my name's Mark. Can I get your name?_ ”

“Harry Potter.”

“ _Harry, awesome. Thanks, how can we help you today?_ ” He rolled his eyes a little at the question, this was a Gate activation hotline not a customer complaint hotline.

“I'd like to report a newly activated Gate in the Surrey, Little Whinging area,” he recited nervously, glancing over his shoulder. Still no sign of anyone near-by.

“ _Gate activation... Surrey... Can you give me an exact location and an estimation of the size?_ ” Mark asked, now sounding much more stern than before.

“St Boneyface Church on Howard's Way. It's in the graveyard at the back, just behind the path to the green if you're coming in from the Church's main entrance. It was small, and kind of pale. E-rank,” he listed confidently.

“ _E-rank, huh?_ ” the guy on the phone echoed with some amusement.

“Yes. My cousin Awakened last year and let me look through his books,” he explained a little resentfully at the faint undercurrent of condescension in the man's voice. Well, he said 'let', it was more 'forced'.

“And where are you now?” Mark continued, the sound of his keyboard tapping away.

“Going home. That thing wasn't there this morning, so I know it won't be collapsing any time soon, but I don't plan to get in anyone's way either,” he stated flatly, giving a small wave to what he thought was Missus Figg as she shuffled out of the cornershop with her carry bag of catfood, but upon second look, was someone entirely different. He remembered then that Missus Figg only moved to Privet Drive to keep an eye on him. With no Dumbledore or Boy Who Lived, she had no reason to be there.

“ _Heh, you're smarter than most. I've forwarded your report down, we'll have a team to assess the gate out before eight o'clock today and a Raid assembled by as late as lunch tomorrow. Good job kid_ ,” Mark declared cheerfully. “ _You have a good evening now_.”

“You too,” Harry found himself saying out of pure reflex before hanging up and shoving his phone into his pocket, next to the magic core.

Thankfully, Aunt Petunia was out when he got home, and Vernon wouldn't be back until half-five, so no one saw him sneak his branch into the house – no way either of them would have let him keep it, the only reason being that he'd brought it home and thus is was clearly tainted. He was able to quickly put together some toast and a cup of tea, eat quickly, wash up, and then head upstairs for a shower before they got home. The less everyone had to interact the happier everyone was, so Harry was often already on his way to school first thing in the morning, getting in at least an hour early to just sit in their tutor class all on his own.

It felt good to wash the sweat and magic off his skin, and he felt a hundred percent steadier as he returned to his bedroom, towelling his hair off and closing the door behind him.

It was so weird seeing his body without all the scars he obtained at Hogwarts on his skin. Just like it was odd to feel like his body wasn't quite what it should be when it has always been like this. He pulled the towel from around his waist off and used it to dry his legs before digging out a pair of underwear. His room was the same as always, now without all of Dudley's broken toys though. It was... much more personable than it had been when Harry had attended Hogwarts. His clothes were put away, there were books and comics on his desk, pens and doodles, there were a few clean school-shirts hanging on the back of his door, a rather ratty looking anorak that didn't manage to be anywhere near as waterproof as advertised, a battered second hand pair of rollerblades on top of his chest of draws that he was cleaning and repairing, and a handful of posters and sketches up on the walls.

It was the room of a teenager.

And Harry felt a strange kind of duality as he stared around himself at the familiar-unfamiliar. At what was his normal every day now through a lens of impossibility and strange envy. He wouldn't have given Hogwarts up for anything, but was this how it could have been if Voldemort had never factored into his life? Perfectly normal. Ordinary. Comfortable.

For all that he hated the Dursleys in this life and the last, his room was his sanctuary from them. Even Dudley respected the fact that this space was Harry's space now. Or perhaps he had just stopped caring as he usually did when sufficiently distracted....

Harry dug the magic core out of his pocket along with his phone and sat on his bed.

Even wiped clean of blood, it was still warm.

This little thing was worth fifty pounds. And he'd gotten it with about as much effort as _sneezing_.

That could only mean he was above E-rank at least.

He ran his fingertips across the blunt edges, feeling the smooth almost oily warm surface texture. Fifty pounds. Average monthly rent on a small studio flat here in Surrey was three hundred and fifty, bills not included, parking not included. He knew because he'd been researching this since he was thirteen. Standard rental agreements were an admin-fee of anything between fifty to a hundred and fifty pounds, that was then stacked on top of a deposit and the first month of rent paid upfront at the contract signing. Usually that amount was in the one thousand bracket.

Harry had been saving up from his part-time job over the last year and had managed to squirrel away five hundred. Occasionally he had to break into it in order to afford food, once or twice when he needed new shoes and Aunt Petunia refused to hear of it because they still looked fine – ignoring him when he flipped them over to show how the soles were so worn out he could poke his fingers through the holes, and once when someone got it into their head to trash his text books and he'd ended up needing to pay the school for replacements. If it continued to grow at its current rate, he'd have enough for that and possibly even basic furnishings when he was eighteen and ready to leave. But.... if Dudley or Vernon or Petunia found it ahead of time....

But being only fifteen, he couldn't open a bank account, and he didn't have any ID. He'd been handed to his Aunt by a social worker with only copies of his documents, and his aunt had locked them away where he would have to ask her permission for them. And she had already refused to let him have them. He had a decade and a half of care under her roof to pay back first, apparently.

Hidden in his room were multiple packets of money. Every now and again he would go to the bank and exchange it for twenty pound notes and hide them in his room. The loose floorboard under his bed was one of the larger hiding spaces, and held the lion's share of money, but it wasn't the only one. He had plenty of hiding places, just in case one was ever found, he wouldn't lose everything.

Tomorrow after school he would take a chance at the bank with his tutor story – with an E-rank gate opening up near-by it wouldn't be too unbelievable a story. Everyone knew hunters earned stupid money. And if they didn't accept it, he could just store it until he was old enough to leave and get his Ranking from the Association, then cash it all in. Stick with his original story and say he earned them tutoring but had to wait until now to cash them in. That ought to work.

Wait – them?

He sat up, ignoring the sound of Vernon coming home downstairs calling for Petunia, and realised that he had already been making plans to earn more of the magical cores.

It wouldn't be too hard. He just.... had to find some low-rank Gates and freelancers willing to take someone onto their Raid, no questions asked, for a share of whatever he earned. There were plenty of scumbags in the world. Just because someone Awakened to great power didn't change their core personality.

“...There goes my lunchbreak,” he muttered, envisioning far too much time in the computer labs hunting through Hunter fanboards and forums for Gate Watchers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE. Or not given how a lot of people have been waiting for me to upload this since I made no secret of my lasted trash obsession. Enjoy the fic. 
> 
> This is set long pre-Manhwa/Light Novel because I want to play with Harry and his journey as a Hunter before linking up with Jin-Woo and his storyline. And also because I've not finished reading all of the light novels. But I am gleeful over some of the stuff I have learned thus far because it opens up a lot of doors for playing with both worlds and stitching them together in interesting ways.
> 
> Stay tuned.


	2. Chapter 2

He dreamt of monsters.

Beings he had only ever seen in Dudley's books, unfamiliar soldiers in silver armour with wings that looked like some idealised angel, a bloody battlefield, and witches and wizards in the middle of it, trying to protect themselves, their people, their home.

Harry dreamt of dying. And meeting an old friend.

And woke up remembering nothing about it in the slightest.

Mornings in the Dursley household were strained affairs as both Harry and Petunia pretended each other didn't exist. Harry usually slept in and skipped breakfast specifically so he would miss Vernon as he left for work at half-past seven, that would then give him fifteen minutes to dress and half an hour to get to school before Tutor-room at eight-thirty. He only needed to worry about avoiding Dudley during the summer holidays, and there was no way in hell his cousin was waking up before eleven-am on a holiday, so he was typically out of the house at his usual time and headed for the green grocers. Of course, he would have to deal with Dudley as soon as he came home, but Petunia was ruthless in ensuring he was put to work so Dudley didn't have much time to bother him if he wanted his dinner before eight.

The E-rank gate was cordoned off as he passed the graveyard. Two security guards and an Association administrator were overseeing the site, chatting quietly with the Father of the church in his full robes. Harry had forgotten that this was a Catholic Church. Petunia and Vernon used to drag the family to the Methodist church ten minutes down the road so he had only ever seen this place being used during weddings where they wanted the bells rung. He still thought it was creepy to get married and walk out into what was literally a graveyard. He could see a lot of other Stonewall students rubbernecking outside the never-before-seen closed Church gates (not that the gates being closed could _stop_ someone, the wall was only about chest height on Harry and he was short). Tristan, Liam, and Mike Dunkirk from Venus-North were lurking next to the gates, whispering excitedly, and he could see Lisa and Lauren, the two sporty girls from his class, taking a lot of photos on their phones and giggling over whether or not they'd get a chance to see some highly ranked Hunters. He could even see Malcolm and Morgan, once Dudley's cronies now just regular schoolboys, on the otherside of the road gushing excitedly over which Guild was going to show up, or if it was going to be an Association Raid.

The underpass was also cordoned off, Association administrators whispering suspiciously with their magical measuring devices in hand. Harry blanched and hastily shoved his magic down and squeezed the ever loving fuck out of it until it could barely be considered the size of a peanut. It felt like holding his breath and the mother of all farts at the same time as he went the long way around them, he didn't know how sensitive those devices were but he didn't want to get caught.

In Stonewall, there were two houses – Venus and Mars. Each year group had four classes named after the directions – North, South, East, and West. These were the Tutor-room classes. In actual lessons, they were split into sets going from Set 1 – top set, the most intelligent students – down to Set 5 – those with _behavioural_ difficulties, being stupid or having learning difficulties was not a guarantee of ending up in this class, it was for the difficult students. But it had developed into a commonly held belief amongst the students that Mas were full of the smart, sciency kids, while Venus had the art and sporty ones. Troublemaking students would end up in either East or West, while North students were all brainiacs, and South were laid-back slackers. Whether the stereotypes were real or not didn't matter, teenagers would take any excuse with both hands, so the stereotypes were played up to for fun, or in the hopes of fitting in.

Harry wasn't a slacker, but he was often so tired that he couldn't focus on classes. He was considered weird by his classmates, he twitched at loud noises, never wanted to hang out on weekends or after school, never invited anyone to birthday parties or sleep-overs or even just to hang out, and always turned down invitations as well. He didn't know films, didn't know games, or even several books and TV shows. He was _weird_.

But he was the fastest runner in their class, and always took the top spot in school sports day, Mister Rayner their PE teacher had been ecstatic to see his scores and tried to recruit him into the school's athletics club, only to be turned down. Harry was considered a slacker by the staff, and they tended to ignore him for the most part. They had been trying for years to motivate him, and failed.

The problem was.... he _wanted_ to join the athletics club. He _wanted_ to hang out after school, and spend weekends trawling around town with friends and finding mischief to get into, but he had to avoid the Dursleys, work at the green grocers, and he certainly wasn't allowed out and about to ' _act like a degenerate hooligan_ '.

Because of this, he'd fallen in with the special-needs kids in his class. They were more understanding of his peculiarities, and as long as he didn't give them grief they were perfectly willing to let him sit with them, or partner with him during projects. Claire and Archie were probably the closest he could call his friends. Claire suffered from severe migraines and womens' problems, so she always had super-strong painkillers that she was perfectly willing to share if you needed them, meanwhile Archie had a terrible stutter and was all elbows when working so would inevitably end up intruding on his desk-mate's personal space without meaning to. Harry was used to occupying as small a space as possible due to Dudley so it didn't bother him, and in return, Archie displayed cutting wit and hilarious sass, while drawing some pretty awesome art that he sometimes let Harry keep.

Both greeted him as he sat down in Tutor-room, Archie with his shaggy curly brown hair, and Claire with her dirty blonde ponytail and face of freckles. They were as different as night and day compared to Ron and Hermione, and for a moment he was seized with both fierce longing and self-disgust. Longing for his old friends, and disgust at himself for thinking that Archie and Claire didn't compare. The circumstances between them were completely different, comparing them was completely unfair.

“Did you hear about the gate down at Old Boney?” Claire asked, peering up from her phone.

Harry nodded, “Passed it on my way home yesterday,” he admitted quietly and Archie peered at him from under his fringe, mechanical pencil already halfway through shading the claws of a far too busty naga-woman.

“Diii-iiii-d you-ou report iii-iit?” he asked pointedly. The first the internet heard about the gate was nine-pm that night when the Association put out a Raid call for the low-rankers, students wouldn't have found out about it unless they were night-owls, like him, or very well connected, like Claire.

Harry nodded, and Claire grinned at him, “Your asshole couz is an Awakened. What rank do you think it was?” she asked excitedly.

“Only E. It was small and pale,” he admitted as he dragged out his student planner and checked what lessons they had first thing. Maths with Mrs Baker. He could probably get away with not doing all the work if he kept his head down. He was pretty good at math, so if he got it done quickly but continued to write and make notes then she wouldn't bother him too much. It was only Set 2, she'd be focused on the kids putting in the effort.

Able to tell that it was going to be a quiet day, she turned from him and began to chatter at Archie about whatever came to mind, not taking his silence or his focus on his drawing to heart – even if she did rather blandly inform him that ' _dude, tits don't look like that_ '. Maths was quiet like he predicted. Algebra. Easy enough if you knew how the formula worked, that was where Claire always tripped up and why she had difficulties. On the otherside of Archie to her, Harry was left blessedly to his own devices as Mrs Baker guided her through it, letting him fill his notebook up with lists and plans.

He needed to find those 'help wanted' forums for the low-rankers, but he also needed to research the hunters leading each Raid so he would know which ones he could safely approach, and which ones would get all honourable and report his jailbait booty to the Association. He would need to move quickly, change his clothes and have a set of clean, easy to move in stuff for when he went on Raids – he would also need to bring his tree branch with him. He'd drained a lot of magical energy into it and he remembered that regular weapons would do _nothing_ against monsters, you needed magically imbued weapons and armour. Which meant that -

His frickin' branch was probably worth about as much as Vernon's car actually.

And he had absolutely _no way_ of selling it.

“Fuck,” he muttered unhappily as he joined the throng of students moving from the maths block to their next lesson, which for him was English, on the otherside of the entire school.

Back to his original plan of earning via the magical cores.

If the bank would accept them, that meant he would have to stick to E-rank dungeons in order to be believed. You know, unless he held back for a week and claimed that the guy paid him extra for taking care of the kid while he was off on a Raid. He might be able to get away with it. But if the bank didn't accept them, he could do a Raid of whatever rank, it wouldn't matter because he would be storing the magical cores. But he would have to stick to E's and D's, like in many places around the world, anything C-rank or higher usually had their permits bought or assigned to the various guilds near-by purely because it was cheaper for the Association to outsource those Raids rather than finance an assault team themselves. They had their hands, and their budget, full from trying to police the hunters and guilds themselves, they didn't have the time or the energy to hunt monsters as well.

Of course, because they had control over the E's and D's themselves, there were sometimes surprise audits – to ensure the laws and regulations were being followed. If Harry got caught Raiding by an auditor.....

But he needed the money. Badly.

Risking his life to get away from the Dursleys a potential three years ahead of time? Was that even something he had to think twice about now that he had Awakened?

One thing was clear to him though, he was going to need a better phone. One with internet access.

* * *

He spent his lunchtime in the computer lab hunting down those fan-forums that followed Hunter activity, but annoyingly found them all blocked on the school's internet services. So he had to give up his plans at least for now. He was going to have to get that phone sooner rather than later.

The underpass was still cordoned off, only this time there was the one security guard there and no administrators. It was very annoying because it meant everyone had to walk quite a distance down the road to the level crossing. The E-rank gate was predictably closed by the time he was leaving at the end of the day, and annoyingly he was forced to walk in the main road just to get past all of the Stonewall students who had rushed to the graveyard after school in the hopes of seeing the hunters. So noisy and annoying. There were no hunters, but the Association was packing up their cordon and watching the students with mixed amusement and annoyance. Harry just shook his head and hurried home – he planned to get some of his savings and then head into town to get himself that new phone before the shop closed. He would keep his awful cheap thing because it was the one that Petunia and Vernon knew he had, but the shiny smart phone he intended to get would have to be secret, _incredibly_ secret. Neither of them would hesitate to confiscate or destroy it if they felt irritated at him.

Petunia was home when he got back, watching some trashy daytime TV and utterly absorbed. Harry was quick and quiet as he went up into his room, crawled under his bed and obtained some of the money from beneath the loose floorboard that was his primary hiding place. If he got the next bus, he could be in the city centre within ten minutes, and in the phone shop before half-past, that would give him half an hour to find a phone and buy it.

When he got to the phone shop, the guy manning the counter's face crumpled to see him coming in half an hour before closing, but he quickly hitched it back on. Harry knew that feeling, little old ladies showing up to do their weekly shop ten minutes before closing were the _bane_ of his existence because they tried to get as much social interaction in as they physically could – which meant he often didn't close until half an hour later once they'd left. He endeavoured to make this quick, quickly heading over and telling the guy what he wanted and his price-range as well as the fact he wanted to pay for it all up-front now. What do you recommend?

He walked out of the shop twenty minutes later with his new phone already unboxed, set up, half-charged, and in the process of transferring his contacts list from his old one to his new one in case of emergencies. He parked his ass on one of the benches and continued to sort himself out before turning the screen off and then getting out the durable phone-case he had paid extra for. Considering how he intended to go into _Dungeons_ with this thing, he wanted it to be strong enough to hold up to any accidental hits.

He was literally about to begin casting spells before he recalled – this was the city centre, there was an Association bureau around the corner staffed with A to B-rank hunters. They would _sense_ him.

Best he go home before doing something like this.

He quickly got to his feet and headed for the bus-stop in the distance, completely unaware that the momentary surge of mana had set said bureau into a frenzy like a kicked over ant hill as those with advanced mana-sense felt like they'd just been clipped over the head with a bat. Instead, Harry scrolled through the app store and chose an anti-virus, some anti-spyware, and a music player to download, he also decided to download a nice picture for his phone background.

Behind him in the city centre, bureau members boiled out of the office to scramble through the streets in search of that sudden surge of mana.

* * *

Tucked up in his bedroom, Harry found himself in a bit of another weird situation.

He knew that the strength and durability of Hunters were on another level but... he was a _mage_ type. He shouldn't have been able to move his desk in front of his bedroom door with a _single_ hand and a pull of his wrist. He was... he was definitely going to have to figure out his physical limits before he went into a dungeon, hell, before he went to PE on Thursday! The school had a few low ranked Awakened, and they were barred from PE because of their superior physical abilities – if one of them had dodgy aim during rounders, netball, or football, they could seriously hurt someone or destroy the equipment. The school just gave them an automatic pass for that class.

But if it got out that Harry had Awakened they would immediately contact the Dursleys to verify his ranking and receive a copy of his official documentation from the Association – as the school received a special budget increase for taking on the risk of an Awakened student. And said students also received extra mandatory tutoring in the hopes of convincing them to become a Hunter or an Association member.

Harry just wanted out from the Dursleys, he would decide what he wanted to do _after_.

He dragged a hand through his hair and decided to set that aside for later. He would... he would get up early tomorrow and figure out his limits, see how far he could run, what his strength was like, how his agility was – he was pretty sure he was still squishy in terms of endurance. Tanker and Fighter type hunters might have skin as thick as a rhino's, the kind that wouldn't split even when slashed with a scalpel, but a mage was a mage, and skin was skin. And Harry had always bruised like a damn peach.

First though, he should focus on reinforcing his phone.

“Still. I don't want every hunter and their mother to be able to sense it as I walk past...” he muttered unhappily, sat cross legged on his bed, fiddling with the phonecase even as he propped his cheek up against his branch which was against his shoulder. He would need to make the protections minor but strong. He couldn't just shove magic into the phonecase like he did with his branch (it was retaining his magic scarily well – he should look into what kind of material it was). So he would have to be careful, and only use the littlest bit of magic so as not to draw attention.

Carefully, like he was weaving a spider's web, he etched his magic through the plastic. It felt a little like trying to do a fine-line drawing with a hosepipe on full whack and it actually _ached_ a little to hold himself back so much, like indigestion. Or constipation.

He lost time, focusing so intently on what he was doing, the finest of magical threads around the phone-case, setting not only one, but three layers, tying them together, and then welding them to the surface.

When he finished, and breathed out, relaxing his strangle-hold on his magic and swallowing it back down, he felt sick again.

So much effort for such a little thing.

Maybe he wasn't as strong as he thought he was? Just because the Boy Who Lived had been uncommonly strong didn't mean that a Harry who had Awakened was. The Dudley that the Boy Who Lived had to deal with would have never attained the superhuman C-rank the Awakened one did.

With slightly trembling hands, he stuck his new phone into its magically reinforced case and set it to charge under his bed out of sight. A check of the clock showed that he had been concentrating for well over an hour, no wonder he felt sick and had a headache. He bled off the excess magic into his branch and tucked it up behind his headboard before setting his alarm clock to wake him at an unprecedented four am, and then flopped back on the bed.

He was _tired_.

His dreams were full of demons again.

* * *

Four am was too soon and Harry hated the world and everything in it. So. Damn. Much.

He was extra quiet as he dressed in his PE kit and slipped out of the house, he would first see how fast he could run, and then see how _long_ he could run for. Strength he could figure out at Northam Bridge where there was plenty of fly-tipping he could test himself out on, things like fridges, sofas, he saw an engine block there last time he walked past, those were supposed to be something like.... two hundred pounds? Four hundred? A big ol' chunk of metal.

Two hours later, he was sneaking back into Privet Drive, dripping with sweat, and immediately heading into the shower for a quick refresh, his head absolutely spinning.

Speed, strength, stamina, even his perception had skyrocketed.

He definitely wasn't human anymore, no matter how he looked on the outside. He wasn't sure how he could go about testing his durability though, surely if he tried to hurt himself he would always be able to manage it because his _strength_ had improved as well? He supposed he could ask Claire and Archie nicely if they were willing to help, he knew they would keep their mouths shut but.... this was too big of a secret.

The underpass was opened back up on his way to school, he could still feel the faint buzzing echo of his Awakening shivering through the stone which may have been why the Association kept it longer than the Gate. School was quiet as well, nice and calm despite the furore of yesterday, even though everyone was still gushing about it – one of the lower years was swearing up and down he saw an Orc try to crawl out of the Gate. He was getting quite roundly razzed by his mates and several of the more knowledgeable students for telling tall tales.

Harry meanwhile started hunting through the internet for local hunter spotting forums, help wanted forums as well.

B-rank Dungeon at the tudor house museum. C-rank at the Wallace Industrial Estate. _A-rank_ down at the Flower Estate in Minehead. Ah, bingo, E-rank Dungeon, carpark on Westbank that was behind the post office at Whinging Towers.

He opened up the post to find out who the Raid leader was. This was a very dedicated Spotting forum so they had already identified everyone on site. Paul Bellamy, D-rank hunter, _independent_.

Harry opened up another tab on his phone and quickly did a search.

Paul Bellamy, D-rank Tanker, independent Hunter. Had a small dedicated team, earned a fair bit of money and donated a fair chunk of it to local charities like the childrens' hospital and the local YMCA. But.... Harry frowned as he examined some of the results further down the search listing, personal blogs of people who had gone on hunts with him in the past bad mouthing his behaviour, accusing him of shady activity, they were old posts though, seemingly on throw-away accounts. Either Bellamy had cleaned up his act, or they were never true anyway and he had been going through some kind of discrediting attempt.... There was a mention in the local newspaper that he was divorcing his wife around then. Attempts to discredit him during the divorce proceedings? Or had he actually been terrible and stopped trying to cover it up around then?

Harry chewed his lower lip thoughtfully before shrugging nervously, it couldn't hurt to find out more.

He quickly searched for a way to make sure his number wouldn't be recognised before looking up Hunter Bellamy's contact details. He would ask if he were interested in an extra body for the Raid, and get half of what he earned in return for no questions asked. If that answer was no, then he would know not to bother with any Raids conducted by him again.

“What are you doing?” Claire's voice demanded from over his shoulder.

Harry squawked, and ended up actually throwing his phone across the room where it slammed and lodged itself into the plasterwall.

“Holy shit!” the girl behind him yelped, and Harry jumped to his feet.

“That was new!” he cried, immediately rushing over to pry it out of the wall.

“Shit, I am so sorry! Is it damaged?” the blonde haired girl asked anxiously, hovering over his shoulder as he had to wiggle it free, wincing as plaster trickled down onto the dark blue carpet of their empty tutor-room.

Harry turned it over carefully in his hands, feeling the magic threading answering him as he failed to find a single scratch, and sighed in relief, “No. No it's fine. I guess the plasterboard here is cheaper than we thought,” he said, and then grimaced when he saw the hole in the wall. No way Mister Henderson wasn't going to notice that. At least.... He shoved the phone into his pocket and stealthily lowered the posters on the wall to hide the hole. Claire snorted in amusement.

“What are you doing here?” the Awakened asked weakly once done.

“Lunch is almost over,” she pointed out drily, “I came back early because the noise in the canteen was giving me a bad head. I wish Kaleb hadn't gotten us all banned from the room,” she complained, referring to the fact that Venus-South were actually banned from their tutor-room during lunch because their classmate had been a vandalising little shit who would throw food up the walls and hide things like banana peels under text-books on the shelves. They'd had a real fruit-fly problem because of him. “So. What _were_ you doing? Because it looked like you were about to call a shady Hunter for something,” she declared, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

Harry looked away.

The uniform was completely different, her hair was pin-straight, thin, and pale, her face was covered in freckles, and she was terrible for remembering to do her homework to the point where she'd received afterschool detentions which meant phonecalls to her parents, but right then she reminded him so painfully of Hermione that he couldn't help but flinch.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “...Just be careful,” she eventually said, “You're not dumb so I don't think you'd go into a Gate as a regular human being, and no matter how much you hate your aunt and uncle you're not the type to have someone hurt them. You also have no money,” she added with a half smile.

He nodded, “I'll be careful,” he said, relieved that she wasn't the type to push for an answer. Hermione would have hounded him for days until he got angry with her. Claire took what he was willing to give and yes she poked and prodded on occasion but never for very long, she was easily distractable when she wanted to be.

She dropped into her seat in front of his and Archie's desk, digging out her phone and beginning to check her social media feeds, “You know where I live. I might not be a Healer, but I know my way around a first aid kit and my parents don't pay much attention to anything so if you need to clean up, just stop by.”

He reached out, brushing her arm with the back of his knuckles, unable to articulate his gratitude.

She just hummed before shoving her phone under his nose with a grin.

“Hey, take a look at this toad. Now that's an angry bitch.”

* * *

“ _Paul Bellamy speaking._ ”

“Good afternoon, Hunter Bellamy. I am calling to enquire as to whether or not you need an extra body for the E-rank Raid at Westbank?”

“ _...You sound young._ ”

“Do you need an extra body for your Raid? Half of everything I earn is yours if no questions are asked.”

“ _Are you fucking with me kid?_ ”

“I need money. You're leading a Raid. Half of what I earn is yours if you keep your mouth shut. Choice is yours.”

“ _...What's your rank kid?_ ”

“Enough for an E-rank Dungeon.”

“ _No fucking shit, Sherlock. You ever been through a Gate before?_ ”

“Yes. Also an E-rank.”

“ _....How soon can you be here?_ ”

“Five pm.”

“ _I want that agreement in writing._ ”

“Having it in writing rather defeats the purpose of it being untraceable.”

“ _Take it or leave it._ ”

“I'll take it. But I won't be using my real name.”

“ _Fuck you. You had better pull your weight._ ”

The line went dead, and Harry breathed out slowly as he looked around the deserted graveyard. Without the Association or the gate, it was as empty as it always was. Which meant it was perfect for private conversations.

Now all Harry had to do was get his ass home, his clothes changed, his halloween costume out, his branch, and his ass down to Westbank before 5pm. No problem. He would even bring the first magical core as insurance, as proof that he'd been through a Gate before now, and as an incentive for Bellamy not to fuck him over immediately.


	3. Chapter 3

Paul Bellamy would be the first person to say he was an asshole. He was a grumpy old man who had the poor fortune to Awaken in the early days of the Mana Advent but not be highly ranked enough to change his life for the better. No. Instead he'd lost fucking _everything_. Ripped away from the job he had poured his everything into, that he'd loved with all of his heart, that he had been _proud_ of, and thrown head first into hell, a sword slapped into his hand, and told to fight a very different kind of monster than he was used to. Not given a choice because this was the beginning, before anyone knew how to mobilise, to protect themselves, before there had even been an Association, when Dungeon Breaks were a monthly occurrence. When the death toll was in the thousands, and no one had time to care about the wants of the people they were throwing into those Dungeons.

Paul had dedicated his life to fighting a very particular kind of monster. He had made the choice as a young man to fight them.

And as a social worker he had been very good at fighting that particular kind of Monster.

But to have a sword thrust into his hands and get shoved into a portal to hell without a single care for what _he_ wanted....

He lost his beloved job. The one he treasured. His Awakening ruined his career because at the time it was _mandatory_ for all Awakened to Hunt. Hunting gave him PTSD. His PTSD ruined his marriage. His divorce drove him to drink. And so here he was. A D-ranked piece of shit ten years later, putting his life on the line with a sword in in his hand for fucking pocket change just to keep the leaky mouldy ass roof over his head and the bottle in his hand.

Just waiting for the day when shit went south enough to finally, _finally_ , put him out of his misery. Because he was far too much of a coward to do it himself.

God he needed a drink.

He chewed aggressively on the filter of his unlit cigarette as he waited for the fucking brat that called him earlier that day. They were down a man on the Raid after Raj's wife unexpectedly went into labour that morning and the fighter had to beg off in order to go take them to the hospital – if he'd had a drink in him, he could have probably found it within himself to be happy for the new father, but right now all he felt was bitter frustration. His bitch ass girlfriend who was only with him so she could bum alcohol and fags in exchange for shitty blow-jobs and even shittier sex had been kicking up fuss about how she wanted a manicure and hair extensions. If he didn't bring home the cash she was never going to fucking shut up.

“Mister Bellamy?”

He turned from where he had been leaning against the half broken wall separating the carpark from the pavement to scowl down at the fucking _kid_ in front of him. Plain blue jeans, cheap sneakers that could have come from any cheap shoe-shop in the city, an unmarked black hoodie, black gloves, a dark navy blue cloth facemask over his mouth and nose, his hood was up, and he was wearing a fucking black wizard hat from some halloween costume and carrying a fucking _stick_.

The words to tell this wanna-be kid to fuck right off sat on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself because he felt _something_ from him. And for a near mana-null like himself that meant this kid was probably a pretty strong Mage-type. Definitely on the upper end of the D-rank, if not higher.

They didn't have a mage-type with them.

He scowled at the brat, ancient dusty instincts stirring sluggishly in the back of his brain that hadn't been fried by night-terrors and too many vodka soaked blackouts. Kids looking to buck the law in order to be 'cool' rarely thought twice about hiding their faces, they certainly didn't meticulously dress for ease of movement and to make sure there was absolutely nothing identifiable on them or about them. Right now, the only thing he could even say about the kid was that he sounded young, was white, and had green eyes. With the fuckin' pointy hat he couldn't even give an accurate height read outside of 'short', and with the hood up his hair colour couldn't be identified either. This kid didn't want to be identified or found. A run away? Was that why he was being so fucking dumbfuck stupid and contacting rando independent hunters?

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, scowling at the kid. “You're a fucking retard kid, and you're gunna get yourself fucking killed.”

Green eyes narrowed behind his ugly drug-store reading glasses, “Then that'll be my fucking problem then, won't it?” he retorted back snottily. He was tempted to cuff the kid then and there but Paul had _never_ laid an aggressive hand on a minor and he wasn't fucking about to either, no matter how deep into his fucking bottles he got.

“Gate's over there. Git,” he snapped, gesturing at the kid to hurry the fuck up.

The kid got.

Fuck this was a mess. He groaned, dragging a hand down his face and viciously wishing again he could just fuck off back to the pub before slapping himself, shoving up from the wall, and marching over. “Alright, fucknuggets!” he bellowed, drawing everyone's attention. His usual team assembled quickly enough, but the extras he'd had to call in took a little longer and stood a bit further away. “This is an E-rank gate. Preliminary scouting tells us it's a goblin town. I want half the tankers in the front inter-spaced with fighters. You, mage, you'll be behind them in front of our healer,” he announced, looking pointedly at the fucking kid and then towards the beefy black guy who he had thought would have definitely been a tanker when they first met only to be shocked stupid when he'd shyly admitted to being a C-rank _Healer_. The kid nodded and the healer gave Paul a deeply uncomfortable look. He gnashed his teeth unhappily and turned away from the judgemental expression to glare at the head of his backline team, Karen, “Back-line, I want the rangers behind the healer and the other half of our fighters and tankers behind them. Don't let the little fuckers sneak up on our asses. Now, sound off, I want to know who you all are and what you do, half of us are unfamiliar faces. I'm Paul, tanker utilising sword and shield. Go.”

“Camella Kovalic, fighter with a mace,” one of his girls announced. She was a British citizen of Polish decent. On and on more names were mentioned along with specialities. Tom, Barry, Gary, and Ian, their tankers all armed with shields of varying sizes, Tom had gotten himself a proper lance made, Barry had a huge gauntlet that he used with great relish to snap swords and squish whatever he got hold of, Gary used a mace much like Camella, and Ian was a classic sword-and-board like Paul himself. Camella, Karen, Daniel, and Dave were their fighters even though he was fairly certain Karen was actually an assassin type – her speed was unreal, but she had never confirmed it. Waleed and Rob were their two rangers, possessing longbows and sharp eyes.

“Tunde Fazekas, healer, keep those beasties off my back and I'll take care of making sure we all get home healthy and well,” the towering black man introduced himself with a good-natured smile.

Then all eyes turned to the kid who hunched up.

“Gryff. Mage. Wind magic,” he announced.

Paul flicked his now well chewed cigarette away, “Wonderful. Let's all sing fucking kumbayah. Grab your weapons. We're going in five,” he barked, irritated all over again and itching for a drink just at the sound of the kid's voice announcing his _combat_ specialities.

“Paul, got a sec?” Tunde called, quickly hurrying over as everyone began to break up and he immediately wanted to put his head through the nearest car window. “Look, I trust you. You've had my back in every Dungeon, but, a kid?” he asked plaintively, keeping his voice quiet but still anxious. “This is _illegal_.”

“You think I don't fucking know that?” he hissed furiously. “If the brat wants to put his life on the line, that's his look out. He'll either do it with us, where there are reasonable fucking humans to keep an eye on his dumbfuck ass, or he'll go and run with shitcakes the like of Alford and get eaten alive,” he snarled in an undertone.

Offering half of whatever he earned in the Dungeon just so he could Raid with them. Fuck.

Alford would have eaten him. Bastard had done it before to plenty of dumb as fuck kids. After the furore of the Advent died down, when things stated to get legalised and the first law passed was the age restriction, plenty of stupid ass teenagers drawn by the allure of fame and money and street cred for swinging a sword around had tried to get into illegal hunting. Alford had his pick of them. He'd take the stupid kid to a Dungeon, work them like a fucking dog until there were no monsters save the boss, then take his sweet as fucking time either raping the girls or torturing the boys before tossing them into the boss room to see what the monster's attack patterns were before risking his own neck in there. Eventually one of his own gang couldn't handle it anymore, they were raping kids and murdering them, he turned himself in and got the whole Raid party arrested. Alford was still rotting in prison but there were always more people like him in the world. Bastards cut from the same cloth.

“Desperate kids do dumb shit,” he muttered darkly. Dumb, dangerous, _deadly_ shit, when they didn't see any other options, no other way out. Fuck. No. He didn't want to think about that kind of shit. He couldn't think about that kind of shit right before leading a Raid. “Go fuckin' cluck after him if you're so worried,” he snapped, before storming to his car in order to collect his sword. Barely ten minutes and he was already regretting this.

He glanced to where everyone was gathering their gear and stowing personals in their cars, and began to stretch and limber himself up in the short window before they went in. After spending most of the day in front of the fucking thing with his thumb up his ass waiting for them all to fucking get there he just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible so he could go home and get that bottle of cherry vodka out of the fridge.

“Sound off it you ain't ready!” he shouted, receiving nothing but determined looks as everyone stepped into their formation. “Alright. Let's go!”

They stepped into the Gate.

* * *

Going into a Gate with multiple people was a different experience to going in alone, particularly because these people were professionals with only one objective in mind – killing monsters. They went in loud and fast. But the caves were annoyingly dark like the last one, as the goblins preferred.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Harry intoned, pulling up his magic and directing it towards the ceiling, splitting it into multiple smaller lights to line the tunnel and give them all some decent light in which to fight in.

“I thought you said you had wind magic?” Barry the tank with the gauntlet blurted in surprise.

“I did,” Harry grunted through his mask. “They're coming,” he warned, spotting the shifting shadows of the goblins as they came loping out of the darkness, screeching as they saw the humans in front of them. He summoned even more lights to cover them and heard Camella cheerfully declare that he was welcome to Raid with her again if he was going to be this useful.

And then the goblins arrived, and the floor was quickly painted red as the tanks activated their raw abilities, making all the goblins aim for them, and giving the fighters easy targets to attack. Over his shoulder the rangers were quick to take out the few that had been too far back for the tanker's abilities to influence and were rushing past the melee to aim for them. The healer was already applying spells to the guys up front, and everyone was acting like a well oiled machine.

“Contact rear!” Karen called from the backline, and immediately the number of arrows halved as Waleed turned on heel and began to fire in the opposite direction to cover them.

“ _Undecim spirits aeriales, coeuntes inimicum sagitent. Sagitta Magica Series Aer!_ ” Harry incanted, the ancient magic falling from his lips easily, the combat magic needing the extra oomph of an incantation the lumos hadn't without the help of a magical core.

Magical arrows made of air swirled into life around him before blasting out, curling around the tankers and fighters like homing missiles as he identified and directed them through the skulls of every single goblin in front of them. Eight of the eleven arrows found their mark, which meant he needed to direct the final three over his shoulder – unfortunately the tunnel was too tight and his grip on the magic wasn't practised enough. They splashed against the stone walls and shredded splinters and chips from the surface, leaving deep violent furrows in the stone.

“Holy fuck!”

“What rank did you say this kid was?!”

“Damn! I've never raided with a mage before! That was fucking amazing kid!”

“Hey! We've got more coming in from the back!” Karen's voice cut through the exclamations of surprise from the others, and to Harry's relief, they immediately went back to business.

He swapped places with Tunde, and a quick look around told him how many there were left.

“ _Septem spiritus aeriales, coeuntes inimicum sagitent. Sagitta Magica Series Aer!_ ” he called, sending out more wind arrows to shred through the goblins like so much wet tissue paper.

Silence fell as the group readied themselves.

“Status call!” Bellamy barked from the front line.

“Backline clear. No injuries,” Karen returned shortly.

“No injuries.” – “Sprained wrist!” - “No injuries!” - “Bastards got my leg pretty good. Wound on my left.” - “I'm good.” - “We're fine up here, Tunde got to us during the fight.”

After taking a few minutes to deal with the sprained wrist and the nasty bite in one of the fighter's legs, everyone then had to consider what to do with all of the corpses around them. And who they actually belonged to. Usually in a Raid it was considered that whoever landed the killing blow got to keep the magical core, it was therefore considered a real dick move to kill steal. Harry ducked his head down and shuffled his feet, realising that he might have overstepped.

“Split them up between all of us?” he suggested almost meekly. They had minced through considerably more of the goblins than there were people here. As long as he got hold of at least _two_ cores at the end of all this, one to keep and one to give to Bellamy as promised, then he would be have more money in his pocket than if he had worked a full shift at the green grocers.

Everyone exchanged looks before smiles broke out on their faces, “Sure thing kid. That sounds good,” the tanker Tom with the lance agreed, a friendly grin stretching across his face before he looked around in admiration, “But man. What rank _are_ you? It definitely ain't E, that's for sure.”

“I don't think I've heard of a mage type able to use wind, never mind wind _and_ light though,” Tunde admitted with a small concerned frown. He was the most highly ranked person present and had even gone on raids with some of the bigger guilds into B-rank gates when the need for healers was desperate.

“Hey, who cares?” Camella demanded, spotting the way Harry's shoulders had begin to hunch aggressively, she couldn't see how white his knuckles had gone, but she could see the bark on his staff beginning to crack with how tightly he was gripping it. “As long as he's willing to keep the surroundings lit and share the spoils, literally who fucking cares? Hey kid, I've got a D-rank Association raid tomor- ”

“No Association Raids,” he interrupted quickly, panicking, “They're monitored. You'll get in trouble.”

“You lot finished fuckin' around, or are you gunna get your hands dirty?” Bellamy demanded from where he was wrist deep in the skull of a goblin, prying out a magical core with the thousand yard stare of a man who had seen far too much and hated every second of it.

Harry's stomach turned to see it, but it was also painfully familiar in a way he couldn't really identify or explain, he swallowed it back and conjured some more light for everyone. He didn't know if it was the norm, or if they just trusted Tunde the most, but everyone handed over their cores to the huge black healer for safe keeping while they were in the Dungeon. Harry idly counted the number of them, identifying a few that were better quality than the others with some surprise – in all from the twenty plus cores now clickity clacking in Tunde's bag.... there was almost two-thousand pounds worth of crystal in there. From one encounter. Dungeons often had _multiple_ groups of monsters, and that wasn't including the boss, or the mana crystals that could be mined from inside.

With all the cores now in Tunde's safe keeping, the group moved on.

Harry sent more lights down the tunnels, and the next group of goblins were quickly handled by everyone, Harry decided to send out light arrows this time instead. It was a little cleaner in that the blood didn't slop out everywhere across the floor as the edges of the wounds were cauterised, but people still had to get their hands dirty picking through the corpses in search of magical cores. He tried to help once, only to have Karen immediately catch his hand and shake her head.

“I'm not happy about an underage kid being on this hunt, but you've been really useful so far so I can't say anything. But please, I absolutely do not want you digging through corpses. You're far too young for that,” she stated plainly with a tortured expression. She looked over at the dead monsters around them, “This kind of hell, even I don't want to see it. You shouldn't have to.”

Harry shrugged a little awkwardly, “I feel kind of useless though,” he muttered unhappily, “It isn't fair.”

Waleed huffed on a laugh as he passed them to drop another five cores off in Tunde's bag, “What isn't fair are your spells, Gryff. You're the one doing the majority of the work! I think we've made three times what we normally do on an E-rank purely because you're not letting any of them escape to the deeper tunnels.”

It was impossible to see him blush, but it was quite obvious he was embarrassed by the way his shoulders went up and he hid under his novelty wizard's hat.

Bellamy even seemed reluctantly pleased, “We'll be able to clear the whole place for a change. Let's pull the lead out. Some of us have fuckin' bedtimes!” he roared.

“Oi,” Harry complained unhappily.

Camella laughed and slapped his back, “He's talking about us old people,” she corrected him cheerfully, “My day job as me up at six am and Mama likes her sleep.”

“Day job?” he echoed curiously, he thought hunters were hunters and had no other jobs.

She nodded cheerfully, “I run a playschool,” she announced, completely throwing him through a loop. She laughed when she spotted his wide eyes, “I know right? But it puts the parents at ease to know there's a D-ranker protecting their kids, especially one still skilled enough to get called on raids in the afternoons. And the kiddies absolutely _love_ storytime on the carpets. It means I also get to teach them basic safety in the event of a Dungeon Break.”

“I'm a Systems Engineer down at the industrial estate,” Waleed confided with a smug grin, “Working on my engineering Masters degree and my hours there apply to my course.”

Camella nodded her expression going wry, “When it comes to full time hunters, it's mostly the Guildies, or those older people who were dragged away from their former careers when the gates first popped up, and have been out of their industries for so long, they can't get back in.” She nodded discreetly to Bellamy with a strange look on her face that took Harry a moment to identify – it was the same look he had seen on Tonks' face before she finally wore Remus down. She liked Bellamy, but somehow he got the impression she had no intention of making a move.

“Hobgoblins!” Bellamy barked from the front, “Weapons up, mouths shut!”

Everyone immediately fell back into formation as a gang of hobgoblins, bigger and nastier than regular goblins, more akin to orcs from Lord of the Rings than goblins. They were tougher for the tankers to deal with.

The words came before he even thought twice.

“ _Septendecim spiritus fulguralis, coeuntes inimicum sagitent. Sagitta Magica Convergentia Fulguralis!_ ” he yelled, and flung the magic forward like a spear – lightning bolts striking out, _booming_ through the air and launching the hobgoblings off their feet. Completely incinerating their heads and shoulders in one strike, the lightning continuing on down the tunnel in white streaks, tearing everything apart in their way until they finally fizzled out, far far into the distance.

Everyone looked at him.

“...That... was stronger than I intended,” he muttered.

“Kid.... have you _been_ assessed yet?” one of the tankers asked faintly, Harry actually forgot what his name was, it was either Gary or Barry, the one with the mace.

“Shut up,” Bellamy snapped and gave him a short shove, “Gather the cores and leave the kid be. If we quit yappin' and move quickly, we can be done with this Dungeon before midnight.”

“Oh god, please,” Camella begged, spinning her mace and marching forward to do precisely that.

Harry shuffled to one side and let them get on with it, feeling uncomfortable with all the covert glances he was being thrown and the long suspicious stare from Bellamy boring into the side of his hoodie covered head. The magical cores from the hobgoblins were twice the size of the prior cores, and possessed another two points, they were probably in the upper bracket of the E-rank core values.

They ran into another group of hobgoblins further in that were unceremoniously dispatched and harvested. Two more groups of goblins crawling out from side caves met a similar end.

They found the boss cave shortly there after but.... since they were all in good health, someone even asked Harry how his magic was but honestly he didn't even understand the question. They took his silence as typical teenage 'duh obviously I'm fine' type of thing and everyone agreed that they would clear the entirety of the dungeon before going after the boss. With how Harry had been lining their path with lumos balls, they weren't likely to get lost what so ever – not when he adjusted the wavelength of the lights so that the path out was in white, while the side tunnels they explored were all in shades of blue and yellow so it was easy to keep track of.

Another six groups of goblins and two more hobgoblin gangs fell to them, before they could comfortably say they'd finished with this Dungeon and headed back to the Boss Room.

Harry swallowed as they stood in the crossroads that lead into the Boss Chamber, everyone taking a minute to psyche themselves up and double-check their equipment.

“The Goblin King is a relatively easy Raid Boss,” Bellamy was saying to the newbie hunters of the group, which included Harry, as he scribbled with a sharpie on the stone floor. “Always goes the same way. Goblin King on his throne, four hobgoblin guards, round chamber. Lots of dead bodies and debris so watch your footing. Try not to land on anything, you'll smell terrible for days. Tankers will draw the hobgoblins, I want you to hit that Boss with those lightning arrows again. All of them on him alone. The rest of us can handle his posse no problem. But if you can put him down before they die, he won't rampage.”

Harry nodded slowly, examining the crude map.

“So, if you just make a split, that'll give me a clear line of sight. Keep one of the tankers at the rear to draw aggro in case more goblins spawn in behind us to protect Tunde, and I'll hit the Raid Boss.” That sounded like a reasonable plan except for one thing, he looked up at Bellamy with a frown, “And you think I can kill the Boss on my own?” he asked sceptically.

Bellamy's smile was not pleasant, “I wasn't born yesterday kid. You haven't gotten evaluated so take it from this old soldier when he tells you, that fucker in there will be piss easy for your magic.”

Harry nodded slowly, anxiety clenching tight in the pit of his stomach.

Somehow, those words were not reassuring.

And he was no longer as worried about the Boss as he was about Bellamy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Undecim spirits aeriales, coeuntes inimicum sagitent. Sagitta Magica Series Aer_  
>  Eleven spirits of wind, strike my enemy. Magic Arrows series Air
> 
> _Septem spiritus aeriales, coeuntes inimicum sagitent. Magitta Magica Series Aer_  
>  Seven spirits of wind, strike my enemy. Magic Arrows series Air
> 
> _Septendecim spiritus fulguralis, coeuntes inimicum sagitent. Sagitta Magica Convergentia Fulguralis_  
>  Seventeen spirits of lightning, strike my enemy. Magic Arrows Convergence of Lightning


	4. Chapter 4

The goblin king sat upon a throne made of bones, he was huge, gelatinously obese, and maggoty pink-white. Wobbling jowls draped from his face to slobber across his collar and chest as thick yellowish ropes of saliva slicked his skin and decorated yellow and brown jutting fangs that looked as though they were made of carved stone instead of enamel or bone. Wearing a necklace of skulls both human and goblin, bracers of fur and leather and a tiny loin-cloth of similar leather scrap, he was probably the most disgusting thing Harry had ever seen. And he only said ‘probably’ because he had seen Dudley naked and throwing himself on the floor in just his tiny swimming pants at a morbidly obese thirteen because he didn’t want Harry to come with them to the beach.

Arrayed around him were four heavily muscular greenish-black hobgoblins who wore thick leather and furs, necklaces of fingerbones and fangs, and wielded heavy slabs of metal that had one side roughly ground to a cutting edge. They looked both faster, stronger, and smarter than the King and any of the other greener hobgoblins they had run into.

He glanced at the rest of the group, glad for the first time since he came into this Dungeon for the wide-brimmed wizard’s hat he could hide under. Hopefully no one would see how wide his eyes were. It was one thing to remember facing down the likes of dragons, acromantula, dementors and basilisks, but it was another thing entirely as a – as _him-_ him, normal him, not magical-Boy Who Lived-Chosen One-him.

He wet his lips and readied his stick, nodding to the others as they hung back, politely giving him a moment to assess the room and gather himself. He was their main attacker in this one. Behind them was the tanker with the huge tower shield and the gauntlet for snapping and smushing swords, Tunde was stood behind him and a little to his left ready to fire healing magic to anyone who needed it. In front of Harry were the two rangers, and in front of them were the two attacking prongs of fighters and tankers. They would split and each tackle one of the hobgoblins, the rangers would provide support and keep the hobgoblins from by-passing the tankers and fighters, and Harry would handle the boss – hopefully killing him before the hobgoblins were defeated.

“GO!” Bellamy roared, signalling the beginning of the attack.

They all ran into the chamber, the backline tanker stopping several steps in front of the door to protect their backs, Harry and Tunde stopping at the first third, the archers in the centre, and the tankers and fighters running out to meet the hobgoblin guards.

Yelling and the sound of clashing steel filled the air as each team engaged two of the bodyguards, leaving Harry confronting the corpulent King.

“ _Undecim spiritus aeriales, vincula facti inimicum captent. Sagitta Magica, Aer Capturae!_ ” he cried, ribbons of air snapping out like tendrils to latch onto the Goblin King, practically strapping him down to his throne so he couldn’t throw himself into combat with the rest of the bodyguards. Harry could hear Tunde casting healing magic behind him and the sounds of battle, familiar and unfamiliar, the smell of blood and the stench of rot a familiar call accompanied by the discordant unfamiliar clash of metal.

He lost himself.

“ **Kom ut med nade Yggdrasil. Spidderen,** _ **Gungnir.**_ ” The harsh incantation reverberated throughout the room as he found himself calling on the ancient magic of the Norse, lightning crackling the length of his stick as he drew it back above his head like a javelin, white light scorching the side of his hat as he threw it.

The explosion of light and noise whited out the entire room.

The Goblin King vaporised on the spot.

Him. His throne. And three metres of stone beneath and behind him.

Everyone was blind and deaf.

Harry was unaffected by his own magic, he could see and feel the heat and light and sound, but they didn’t hurt him the way it did others, and he could see the way the hobgoblins were wailing and staggering back while the others ducked down immediately to the floor, well trained to avoid the panicked flailing of the hobgoblin guards.

“ _Septendecim spiritus glaciales, coeuntes inimicum concidant. Sagitta Magica, Series Glacialis!_ ” he called, summoning ice arrows to shred through the hobgoblins, nervous of using destructive or burning magic like lightning or wind near non-magicals.

The three remaining hobgoblin guards died quickly, heads and torsos thoroughly perforated by magical ice shards.

The chamber fell silent.

“Kid!” Bellamy yelled, likely over the ringing in his own ears as he blinked his eyes rapidly and glared around them all, “That had better have been you!” he snarled furiously squinting angrily around until his blotchy vision cleared enough to see the mess Harry had made of the chamber, and more specifically of the boss. There was a long moment of silence as he worked to clear his vision during which the other members of their group did the same and swore over the state of the chamber and their enemies.

“Oh man, I was hoping to carry my weight today,” one of the fighters complained absently as he scratched at his short sweaty hair in amused dismay.

“You never carry your weight,” his friend retorted snarkily and grinned when he got a kick to the back of the leg.

Harry shuffled in place, fiddling with his gloves uncertainly as everyone began to pick themselves up.

“Is there anything _left_ of the boss?” Waleed the ranger asked in tones of awed concern as everyone began to spread out and relax some.

“No,” Bellamy grunted, stalking forward, “Just...” He knelt in the scorched crater and pried something out of the stone, a faintly glowing white star shaped magical core. “This,” he grunted once he’d yanked it out. “Well done kid. You hit him harder than I expected, but you did as you were told, nicely done,” he stated gruffly with a short nod in Harry’s direction before he frowned. “Where’s your staff?” he asked.

Harry flushed, “I think – it disintegrated,” he admitted nervously, apologies about the force of the magic, what was basically launching an active lightning bolt in close confines that blinded and deafened everyone, using magic when he wasn’t sure of how powerful it would end up, they sat on the tip of his tongue and itched. But he swallowed them down. No one was hurt and he would know better for next time. He needed to remain on Bellamy’s good side to get into Dungeons at a later date, but he also needed to make sure the man wouldn’t try to take advantage of him.

Something complicated crossed the man’s face and he nodded slowly. “Couple more hunts and you can afford to get a new one,” he eventually said dismissively as he gestured Tunde over to collect the core.

The large black man eyed Harry speculatively as he passed and collected the Boss core, the others quickly adding the bodyguards to the collection as a very fine tremor shuddered through the dungeon.

“Alright, this place is shutting down. Before we book it out of here, are there any injured? Who needs extra support?” Bellamy snapped out, his voice cracking through the empty chamber like a whip. Negatives and shaken heads were given all around and the man turned to glare at Harry as well, “What about you, brat? You’ve used a lot of magic. You got enough energy to get out?” he demanded harshly.

Harry scowled, “Yes,” he snapped, “Worry about yourself, _old man_ ,” he retorted just as snappily.

Bellamy just barked out an ugly laugh and bared his teeth in what may have passed for a smile at some point, but was far too angry to be mistaken for such anymore. “Alright, chucklefucks! Move out! Back in formation, we move quickly!” the man commanded.

* * *

Fresh air had never tasted so sweet as knowing there was going to be a fat stack of cash at the end of the day.

Paul was the first one out, standing to one side, counting his people as they followed, it was dark but according to his phone and its now reconnected service it was eleven o’clock, they had cleared that dungeon in six hours. A new record for England, but not one he could submit because – he eyed the scorch in the side of the kid's halloween hat, taking in the melted polyester and how it now drooped sadly to one side and reeked of burning plastic.

Camella headed to her car and returned with the energy drinks and snack bags she usually made up for post dungeon debrief and payout, just a little pick-me-up for everyone to get them home before they conked out in exhaustion. Tunde collected his drink and hopped on his bike to go to the nearest bureau branch in order to pay in their magical cores and collect team-payment for everyone.

The kid obviously tried not to look too nervous as the guy drove off, still hesitantly clutching his own snack bag while Camella happily presented Karen with her special gluten free bag. Paul snorted quietly to himself and gratefully dug into his bag of nuts and skittles, scrolling through his phone app to record that the gate was already beginning the collapse. He listed the kid as 'emergency contractor', which was typically short hand for someone they'd been forced to call in from one of the bigger Guilds – it was often used as a loophole for illegal hunting, but as long as he didn't bring the kid along on an audited hunt, everything was gravy. Having a Guildie for an 'emergency contractor' would also correlate to how swiftly they managed to close the gate, and since it was only an E-rank, the money earned in there would be the equivalent to pocket change depending on the Guild. They were famously known for not reporting such minor amounts of earnings. As long as they paid the rank-tax, which was simply employment tax that was calculated on what your hunter rank was as opposed to what work you did, then no one was going to investigate their earnings too closely.

“Chill your shit, brat,” he grunted around a mouthful of peanuts, “Park your ass, eat some nuts and get a drink down your neck. Fazekas will be back with our money, in cash, along with the standard gate closure pay,” he explained dismissively as he cracked open his drink. Tropical flavour, nice. Camella always remembered what his favourites were. She'd even included dry-roast mixed nuts in his snack pack.

He was pretty certain of it now. This kid was no low-ranker.

Hell, Paul had seen a _lot_ of mages in his time. Back in the early days, there was no ranking system, no payment system either, so whenever a gate popped up, the police would roll up to the door of every Awakened within five miles and demand they close the damn thing. He'd worked with just about every rank of hunter, even an S-rank once in the early days. This kid. If he wasn't a highly ranked A mage, he would literally turn around and walk back into that Dungeon and use his tongue to clean a hobgoblin's asshole.

The kid was probably _safer_ in those dungeons than the rest of them, and was clearly _not_ safe out here. He watched as the kid slowly sat down on the carpark floor in the shadow of Camella's car, sliding a skittle under his mask in mute unhappiness, like a puppy that had just been told off. Despite being so ridiculously highly ranked, the kid was quiet and shy, clearly wasn't a push over if the clap-back he was giving to Paul earlier was any indication, but he'd encountered enough aggressive kids to know that being timid and meek wasn't always a sign that something was wrong. Kids was amazingly resilient, and they developed a whole host of often worrying coping mechanisms and techniques to hide what was happening to them. More often than not, their issues at home would manifest in other ways in their lives and look like completely separate issues. He remembered one of his first cases where one little girl's school was absolutely certain she was just autistic and precocious, but her science teacher was absolutely certain that there was something there. It took over a month of investigation and speaking to the girl before they managed to get the story out of her. Molestation at the hands of her elder sister's boyfriend.

He couldn't say for sure what the kid's problem was. He would need to get closer.

The problem with that was that he just didn't want to.

He wasn't a social worker anymore. This wasn't _his_ problem. And it wasn't his job to fix whatever the fuck problem the brat had. As long as he was kept in booze and blowjobs then what the fuck did he care what was happening to the kid? (He did care. He cared a lot. And it barely took an evening and he _hated himself_ for it. He was a fucking idiot. A fucking IDIOT. He knew where this road led. He'd been down it before. He knew better. He fucking knew better but here the fuck he was a-fucking-gain.)

He chugged the last of his tropical drink and viciously wished he'd thought to spike it with the vodka he kept in his boot before scowling and shoving the final handful of peanuts and skittles into his mouth.

A couple of the others tried to question the kid, but he stubbornly remained as untalkative outside the dungeon as he had been inside it, letting the conversations eventually flow over and past him as he consumed his snack bag piece by piece underneath his mask. Paul turned away and pointedly ignored the kid, focusing only on mentally attempting to calculate how much they'd cumulatively earned on this venture and how much he'd have at the end of it. They'd killed well over a hundred goblins in there, closer to one-fifty he would wager. There had been a large number of low rank goblins, but there had also been a fair number of hobgoblins too. In terms of money earned from the magical cores.... maybe seven thousand? Roughly? Then there would be the standard gate closure payment. That would be a straight three-thousand to be shared out between whoever was present. So. Ten thousand? Split between thirteen. And he would get half again of whatever he received when the kid paid up for the hassle of taking him on an illegal hunt, so.... nine hundred for him at the end of the day.

...damn.

That was almost three months rent in one day.

“Hey kid,” he grunted, “You looking to make a regular thing of this?” he asked bluntly, watching as those vivid green eyes peered out from beneath the brim of his stupid hat.

“...Yes. I need the money,” he stated plainly.

“Why? If you want a new x-box there's safer shit to do,” Barry pointed out, his voice coloured with concern.

The kid picked at his snack bag, looking down again, “I need to save up for my own place.”

Paul closed his eyes and lifted his empty bottle to suck out the last dregs of his drink rather than look at the fucking kid. Because of course he was putting his fucking life on the line in order to escape whatever was waiting for him at home. Of course he was doing the smart thing and making sure he had resources in order to escape whatever was waiting for him at home instead of just packing his fucking bags and running for it.

The kid was going to hunt again. He was going to get as much fucking money as he could because he wasn't a fucking idiot. He was going to ditch his home as soon as he got the chance, job or no job, but he was going to live off that money until he got said job.

The sound of Fazekas' motorbike saved him from having to consider it further, or so he told himself as he tossed his trash into the back of Camella's car and got to his feet.

The big guy pulled to a stop with a huge wild grin on his face as he pulled his helmet off.

“We broke a clearing record,” he announced cheerfully, “Course, no one cares because it was just an E-rank, but six hours is pretty impressive for a team of E's and D's.” He swung himself off his machine as cheers and laughter broke out amongst the team. Paul couldn't give a shit. He wanted his money already.

“How much?” he demanded as Fazekas began to unzip his bag.

“We made over nine thousand on the magical cores alone,” he announced to the noisy excitement of everyone present and Paul's utter astonishment. That was two thousand more than he anticipated. “With the completion payment on top of that, split thirteen ways, we're looking at a cool nine hundred and fifty. Each,” the huge man explained with a toothy grin as he held up the individual envelopes stuffed full of payslips and cash. “Here. I remembered that you prefer cash, and you. Gryff, I figured given your... circumstances, you'd prefer cash. I requested small notes so your envelope is a bit bigger than everyone else's,” Fazekas explained, handing over an A5 envelope instead of the usual narrow one to the kid. Everyone else obtained a payslip to be paid into their accounts via the bank.

The kid wet his lips, “Thank you very much everyone.”

Camella laughed, “Don't sweat it. Just don't forget about us the next time you wanna Raid. I know I'll be happy to have you along.”

“Oh yeah,” Waleed agreed with a laugh.

“Count me out,” Karen refused with a shake of her head. “Sorry. I won't say anything, but I don't agree with taking kids into Dungeons, no matter how strong they are. If you plan to invite the kid, don't bother inviting me,” she declared with an apologetic look at said kid who was now staring down at his trainers in uncomfortable silence.

“Yeah. I'm.... not going to lie. I'm not particularly cool with it either, man,” Daniel, one of the fighters, chimed in. “It was fine this time but, what if he gets hurt next time? Dungeons aren't playgrounds.”

“Not to mention we could lose our licences if we're caught Raiding with a kid,” Rob, Waleed's ranger partner pointed out almost resentfully, frowning at Paul who glared at the perceived snide remark.

“If you guys object so much, give the kid the money he earned in there then,” Gary interrupted before Paul could open his mouth. The tanker wasn't frowning at them but he did look rather fed up. “I'm not too wild on the fact we had a minor with us, but he's not a complete child. He did as he was told, he was quiet, competent, and got the job done. He could have cleared that place on his own I have no doubt. So, how about instead of running your lazy ass mouths, you either shut up, or you give Gryff what he's owed.”

To the surprise of absolutely everyone, Karen did exactly that.

“You've got a point,” the woman agreed plainly, and then held her envelope out to the kid. “You did earn this. Take it. Take it and use it to get your new home and wait until you're legally old enough to Raid. When that happens, I'd love to run with you again. But not before,” she explained with a small smile before huffing a little in amusement when he wouldn't accept the envelope, and then proceeded to shove it into his hood before heading towards her car. “Get home safe guys!” she called, waving. “And don't forget to stretch before getting into bed or you'll cramp up!!”

They all looked at Rob and Daniel, but the two only looked away. They made no move to hand over their envelopes.

Gary nodded to himself, and then got to his feet, “Thanks for doing the bureau run, Tun. See you down the pub tomorrow?” he asked cheerfully, looking at their healer.

Tunde beamed, “Sure thing. I'll bring Nadia.”

With the matter of the kid seemingly resolved, everyone began to say their goodbyes now that they had money in hand. Paul was obligated as the Raid lead to wait on site until the gate actually closed properly, which shouldn't be too much longer. At this time of night it only took five minutes to drive into town to the bureau, twenty to sort their pay out and another five back. Ten, fifteen minutes until gate closure. It took about that long for everyone to finish waving their fucking hanky's at each other and piss off.

Leaving just him and the kid, who quite smartly waited until everyone had left before opening his envelope and beginning to count out his money before holding out a small wad of twenties.

“Four hundred and seventy five. Half. As promised,” the kid announced as if Paul couldn't figure that shit out himself.

He eyed the wad of cash in the kid's hand.

He would have well over four months rent if he accepted that. In a single night.

And it wasn't like the kid was going to lose out either. He still had Karen's envelope so they were both going to walk away from tonight with an equal amount of money. So he had no reason _not_ to take the money.

No reason except the fact that as big a piece of shit he often felt he was.... taking money from a desperate fucking kid.... that was fucking low. That was _really_ fucking low. And he'd done some fucking awful shit in the darkest moments of his life, shit that made him want to crawl into a bottle and never get out of it just for the sweet release of not remembering anything for twelve hours. But he would always tell himself that doing so wasn't fair to those he'd wronged. He fucked up, he had to live with it. He had to accept that he had done something awful and live with it just as much as those he'd wronged.

And it wouldn't be fair to the fucking kid if he took that money. And it wouldn't be fair to Paul either, to force himself to live with that fucking guilt.

“Keep your fucking money kid,” he grunted, digging into his pocket for his cigarette carton. “I'll cut you a different deal in exchange. You get final say whether or not you go for it though,” he declared, rummaging his lighter out.

The first hit of nicotine in his lungs was heaven-fucking-sent, and he could already feel the corkscrew of stress wound up his back beginning to loosen. Now if only he – actually, yes, he fucking could now. He had no hunt scheduled for tomorrow. He crooked a finger at the kid to follow him and headed to his car where he wasted no time in digging out the bottle of russian standard vodka he kept in the back of the car for when hunts went bad. Or good. Or just when he got out of a hunt and wanted a drink.

Fucking rocket fuel hit his system with the first swig, but he left it there for now. Best not to drink and drive.

The kid's face was a weird mixture of concern and disgust and he couldn't stop himself from barking on a laugh when he saw it. “Calm the fuck down Princess. I ain't having anymore until I get home. I know better,” he promised with a hoarse laugh, the alcohol burning oh so nicely down his throat to warm him up from within. Nicotine, alcohol, money, he was on top of the fucking world right now. He sat himself down on the back of his car boot and took another drag on his cigarette, “Okay. Here's the fucking deal.

“There's a lot of assholes out there. I'd know. I'm fucking one of 'em. But I'm not the kid that'd take advantage of a kid. Used to be a social worker before the magic advent, don't fucking look at me like that kid. I ain't gunna rat you out. No one would fucking believe me,” he grunted and took another drag, blowing to the side away from the kid. He might have been wearing a mask but it probably wouldn't do him any favours to come home reeking of cigarettes. “So here's the deal. I let you raid with me, I tell you other guys who are trust-worthy to raid with, we set up a system where if we're joined by potential Association monitors we arrange it so you don't come with. And that's that. You don't raid with anyone else. Just me and the guys I vet. You keep your money, you get paid cash, small denominations every time, and me and mine get the services of a decent mage, and the guarantee of a decent pay packet at the end of a night.”

The kid was frowning at him, “Only people you vet?” he echoed unhappily.

Paul shrugged, “Google Jason Alford. Then ask me that again if you still don't like it,” he grunted, shaking his bottle thoughtfully. A second mouthful wouldn't be so bad.... would it? Hell. He planned on leaving soon. A second mouthful wouldn't even hit his bloodstream before he was in through the door at his own place.

He caught the alarmed eyebrows on the kid's face and forced himself to stow the bottle instead of crack it open again.

Fucking kid.

“You've got my number. Think about it,” he grunted as he got to his feet and dropped his cigarette, crushing it under his shoe. “Fuck off home kid, it's a school night innit?” he demanded, making a shooing motion with his hand to get the kid to back up enough so he could close boot.

Of course it was as he was getting into the car the kid had to pipe up one last time.

“Bellamy.... thanks. For taking the risk.” And then he was fucking _gone_. Sprinting out of the carpark like the hounds of hell were on his ass. He didn't even head to the highstreet where there was likely to be a bus running at this time of night, he went in the opposite direction, towards the industrial estates and the rat-warren of council houses.

“Fuck's sake,” he muttered quietly under his breath, feeling his mouth pull into an unwelcome smile. He shook his head and climbed into the car to head home.

Of course his good mood was fucking ruined the second he got through the front door and found Michelle in _his_ bed with another fucking man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Undecim spiritus aeriales, vincula facti inimicum captent. Sagitta Magica, Aer Capturae_  
>  Eleven spirits of wind, Make shackles capture my enemy. Magic Arrows, Capturing Wind
> 
>  _Kom ut med nade Yggdrasil. Spidderen, Gungnir_ [Norse incantation]  
> Come forth with the grace of Yggdrasil, Impaler, Gungnir
> 
>  _Septendecim spiritus glaciales, coeuntes inimicum concidant. Sagitta Magica, Series Glacialis_  
>  Seventeen spirits of ice, cut apart my enemy. Magic Arrows, Series of Ice.
> 
> Ahhhhh, I'm sorry Paul. But your gf was always going to be a piece of shit. Don't worry, I have plans for you and your luck turning around <3


	5. Chapter 5

Sneaking back into the Dursleys' house was child's play, he didn't bother with the front door already semi-suspicious that Uncle Vernon had camped out on the doorstep like he'd done the first time Harry had broken the rules and snuck out to someone's birthday party when he was eleven and tried to sneak back in first thing in the morning. He'd missed school for three days, it took that long for the swelling around his eye to face enough for Aunt Petunia to 'waste' her expensive concealers and setting spray on hiding the bruising.

He by-passed the front door and climbed up onto the fencing at the back of the house, used the window-ledge of the frosted window at the top of the garage to climb up onto the edge of the roofing at the back of the house. His own bedroom window was wide open, and all it took was being careful not to bang around as he slithered through.

The payslip was filed away in last year's history text book about the romans, a red tab to denote it was a significant amount placed upon the page so he would know, while the envelope of cash was opened up and separated out into stacks of a hundred and hidden throughout his room – he tucked one of the twenties into his wallet, and put the remaining eighty in a tight roll hidden in the cavity behind his light-switch.

Then his clothes came off, smelling like damp cold places and cigarette smoke, he was quick to shove them to the bottom of his washing basket. He didn't bother with the bathroom to get washed, instead, he'd filled a jug of water up before he'd left earlier that day and it was tucked up in the corner of his room along with the washing up bowl he usually kept his washing products in. He quickly cleaned himself up with a cloth, the strongest smelling soap he had, and dunked his head in there for a quick shampoo scrub. He gave himself a suspicious sniff once he was finished and concluded he was clean enough. Aunt Petunia wasn't going to notice anything if he accidentally ran into her on the landing, and then tipped the dirty water out of the window. He dragged on his nightclothes, snuck into the bathroom to use the toilet, and then crawled into bed.

It had been.... an eventful day.

He slept hard.

* * *

I c■n't sta■ h■■e. I ■an't. They're _d■ing!_

**Al■ ■■■ngs di■.**

They're ■■ pe■■■e, ■■■! I can't – I c■n't – it – ■■■ ma■y times do I ■■■■ to ■■■ch this? I c■n't just ■■■■ ■■■■ and d■ ■ot■■ng! T■is ■■■lm of ■he D■■■, this is n■■ w■■r■ I be■ong!

**You ■■ belon■ ■■■■. You b■■■ng ■ith me. N■■ out ■here.**

■■■, I was never sup■■■■■ to be ■■re. I kn■w that ■■■■ ■■■■. ■aster ■■ Dea■■ was n■v■■ wh■t it ended ■■ b■■■g. Th■ next ■■■■ the ch■■■■■ is us■d, I'm going. I ■■■'t stand it a■■■ore. I hu■■ ■■■■ telling ■■■■■■ that my t■me ■as done, that ■ sho■■■■'■ ■■ep in, i■ wasn't my ■■■■e a■■mor■. B■t they're running out of time! ■■d my wor■d, it lasted ■■e ■■■ge■■. Kno■■ng what I ■■■■ ■■■, I can make t■■ di■■■■■nce. This ■■ my h■me. And I ■■ fed up of these bastards ■■■■■ng it! ■■■h of th■m!

**An■ ■e?**

I don't ■■■■. I wou■d ■■k you to co■e with me, help me, ■■■ you're so t■■ed I ca■'t put that ■■ ■ou. Can't ■■■ ■ou t■ step ■■■o b■ttle with ■e. Can't a■k you ■■ refuse ■■. I love you. I do. ■■■ my spirit i■n't d■■d yet, a■■ I ■■n't sit ■dly by while m■ world dies ■nym■■e.

**Then go. With my Blessings.**

* * *

Harry woke with a start, bones aching, feeling overfull and queasy with magic again, his eyes gummy and – and _wet?_

He rubbed an eye, started to find that both of his cheeks were cold and wet with tears both dry and fresh. He had been crying? In his sleep? He – he hadn't been dreaming about anything terrible... he didn't think? He was... saying goodbye to someone, yes? But he wanted to go, he wasn't being forced or anything, he could remember that. He wanted to leave, there was something very important he needed to do. There hadn't even been a fight. The other person... other person...

_Then go. With my Blessings._

So why was he crying? And – why couldn't he stop?

His alarm went off, making him jump and almost poke himself in the eye mid-drying attempt.

Turning the horrid thing off, he forced himself up and out of bed, quickly dragging on his school uniform, wrestling a brush through his hair, grabbing his pre-packed school bag, and leaving his room. One quick pitstop in the bathroom to use the facilities and brush his teeth, as he had forgotten to last night, and he was heading down the stairs as if it were a normal morning – grunting about how he'd been feeling sick yesterday so stayed in his room when Aunt Petunia demanded to know where he'd been yesterday. Since his relatives never went into his room, because there was an agreement written in blood between them and him after the last time, she couldn't refute him and subsided in furious silence as he chugged a glass of water, stuck the empty in the washing machine, and left for school.

He stopped at the shop to grab a blueberry nutrigrain breakfast bar and a chocolate milkshake for his actual breakfast.

He ran into Archie on the walk in, and the two of them walked together, the stuttering boy enthusiastically telling him about the latest episode of his favourite anime, keeping him in the loop since he couldn't watch it himself and thought the storyline was pretty cool. Both of them had put in a request at the school library to get the manga in stock like the girls had managed to get a couple of shojo volumes last year, but until then, Harry had to live vicariously through his friends.

Claire was off sick again, Archie showed him the garbled message she slapped out – another migraine. Category two, which meant she was likely to be off for the next two days if everything went as predicted.

School was quiet.

Harry spent most of the day almost on the edge of his seat half-expecting Association members to appear and escort him to the nearest prison for illegal hunting. He also half expected some of his hunt-obsessed classmates to appear and confront him about going on an illegal Raid because god knew they bloody _stalked_ the local hunters. But that also didn't happen. Neither did Bellamy crashing in through the back gate to curse him out for – he didn't know, but he definitely seemed the type to go straight for the object of his ire no matter who or where they were.

It was quiet. Normal. _Boring_.

He googled Jason Alford at lunch.

He looked up related stories once he'd finished being disturbed. Forty two dead children over a five year period, all to feed one man's perverse ego. And he wasn't the only one. ' _What happens in a Dungeon, stays in a Dungeon_ '. A lot of dead people, a lot of suspicious hunters, a lot of survivor accounts of men and women who fled from Dungeons after their Raid team turned on them and became more of a threat than the monsters they were hunting.

After school, he went to the local library and checked out two books on his card about the Aztecs and the Incas, and went home to do his homework.

Petunia commanded him downstairs to peel the potatoes for dinner, and Harry ended up cleaning the kitchen on top of that before he was allowed to make himself a cheese sandwich and cup of tea before going back upstairs while his Aunt and Uncle ate dinner. He took a shower, finished his paper on the God of the Smoking Mirror for history class, checked his new phone, and crawled into bed.

He dreamt of monsters. Monsters fighting witches and wizards. The air filled with dragons. He woke up with wet cheeks and no memory of them save fighting, and the incantations for new spells swimming in the back of his head. He made a mental note to get hold of a Latin dictionary.

The next day was almost exactly the same, the only difference being PE where he had momentary low-grade freak out as he tried to remember both his strength and speed and regulate himself not to stand out more than normal. And also pretend to be out of breath. He was pretty sure he managed it. Managed it well enough that people who didn't actually know him would be oblivious, he quickly amended when he caught the deeply suspicious and slightly concerned look on Archie's face.

Friday was identical, right down to waking up in tears after dreams he couldn't completely remember, someone with large cold hands was touching his face he thought, they were gentle, and the touch was loving. Claire was back at school looking pale faced and strained. Her headache wasn't completely gone, but she could function, which was good enough for school apparently. Harry finished his maths homework at lunchtime while helping both her and Archie through theirs, and at the end of classes – his phone went at four fifteen as he was walking home.

Not his public phone, his secret fancy phone.

His heart launched itself into his throat as he checked the number.

Bellamy.

He'd already said goodbye to Archie over a street away, but he still found himself looking over his shoulder nervously before he answered, as if expecting to see his friend crouched behind the bushes or something, snooping on him.

“Hello?” he answered warily.

“ _You given any thought to our deal?_ ” the man demanded shortly, sounding as though he were grinding his teeth something fierce.

Harry nodded, even though he couldn't see, “Yes. I'm... willing, but are they?” he asked shortly. Rob the ranger had a point when he said they could lose their licences for Raiding with him, and Karen was very much one of those women who didn't like the idea of children being in danger. Both of them were _normal_. That _was_ the normal response to a fifteen year old trying to get into a Dungeon. The real world, the muggle world, wasn't like Hogwarts where the teachers were so inept it was up to a teenager to save them from a sociopathic massmurderer.

“ _You let me worry about that. Already got one lined up for you tomorrow if you're interested,_ ” Bellamy grunted, “ _Ex-girlfriend of mine is running it. She's a piece of work but she won't rat you out or ditch you. Just don't let her stiff you of your money at the end of it,_ ” he warned.

“Where and what rank?” Harry asked warily, pausing and digging a pen out of his bag to quickly write on his wrist.

“ _Bridal-path up near the bike racetrack on –_ ”

“Weston Lane. I know the one. Which end?” he asked as he quickly scribbled it down.

“ _Other end to the track. The small field where the lightning stump is. She plans to head out at eight in the morning, and no, she won't wait for you so if you want the work, make sure your ass is there,_ ” Bellamy warned. Harry was about to answer but then he heard a doorbell and a woman screaming angrily in the background and heard the man scoff in irritation. “ _Don't forget to pick up a new hat by the way. You melted a hole in the other one,_ ” he added, sounding amused.

Harry scowled, and then grimaced when banging was added to the sound of the woman shouting and the doorbell.

“I – won't. Is everything alright?” he couldn't help but ask.

“ _Peachy. Caught the fuckin' bitch cheating on me after the last Raid. Kicked her skank ass out now she's coming back over every two hours or so to try and steal my shit. Until I get the locks changed, which'll hopefully be today, I'm stuck inside,_ ” he explained, sounding darkly amused and angry at the same time. “ _Hence why I ain't babysitting you on this run. Mary'll guide you well enough, but her Raid group ain't as friendly as mine so you should bring your own food and drink._ ”

“Right. Thank you.”

“ _Eh, thank you kid. If we hadn't cleared that gate so quick, I'd still be stuck with this bitch._ ” They both fell quiet, the only thing audible over the phone being the sound of the woman screaming at his front door. There was a small snort, “ _Don't die,_ ” the hunter grunted before hanging up.

Harry reset his phone alarm for seven o'clock Saturday morning on his secret phone, it would vibrate and wake him without bothering the Dursleys', and then he continued on his way home.

Another Raid, and so quickly too.

He stopped off at the shop to pick up lunch and dinner for tomorrow, some energy drinks, and something for him to eat tonight as well, just in case. Nervousness sat like bubbling lead in the pit of his stomach as he headed home. He didn't have another hat but he did have an entire evening to repair the one he did have, the only problem would be his stick/staff. The last one disintegrated so he would need another one if he wanted quick spellcasting. He had noticed that Bellamy didn't tell him what rank this next Dungeon was. The Guilds tended to snap everything C-rank and higher up, which meant it was probably E or D, but he hadn't bothered to explain which. Did that mean he thought Harry could handle it either way, or that he didn't _care_ if Harry could handle it either way?

He paused, glancing to the road on his left that would lead to the graveyard where he picked up his last stick. And then back up ahead where Magnolia Crescent would lead onto Privet Drive. He didn't know if Petunia would be home or not. If she was, he may not be able to sneak the stick into the house.

...He went to the graveyard.

He got the stick from... this row of graves here.

It was pale, a kind of silvery grey colour, and had little red spots..... Which would have come from that tree there.

He couldn't see any staff-like sticks there, but there were plenty of shorter, thinner, wand-like ones he was willing to collect. A little time with a craft knife to neaten them up and they would work quite well for quick and dirty wands. With the amount of money he'd gotten hold of, he could also go to a hardware store and pick up a block of wood to carve into a staff if he wanted to. He just needed to identify the kind of wood.

Which, he really wished he hadn't once he'd gotten a better look at the parent tree.

He grimaced in dismay and annoyance.

“Elder wood. Of course,” he muttered unhappily holding up one of his 'wands'. How many were in his bag? Five? That meant six. He had six 'Elder Wands'. What a bad joke. He had thought the staff held his magic unusually well.

He scoffed and shoved the last wand into his bag and quickly stormed off home before someone thought he was up to something nefarious in the graveyard and called the police. The more attention on him the less likely he was to get away with anything.

* * *

Paul refused to admit he was concerned.

The pile of cigarette butts at his feet would have said otherwise to anyone looking as he hovered outside the D-rank gate that Mary had called him up about yesterday asking if he was available to back her up. 'Course, with Michelle being such an unholy _bitch_ he couldn't, but then he thought of the kid and really, Mary was a tough old bitch but she was also reasonable. When he stated that he knew a guy desperate for cash, the first question she had was 'what's wrong with him'. Woman knew him far too well. And she wasn't happy that said kid was under eighteen. Though finding out he was fifteen soothed some of her ruffled feathers – she'd been thrown into Dungeons at fifteen before the laws kicked in. If he'd been under fifteen then she'd have given him a flat no, and then decked him for even suggesting it, never mind having taken the kid in with him before hand.

His locks got changed last night, and he'd spent the morning adding a few more and dropping the bitch's details on social media so other hunters would know what she was up to while they were busting ass in a dungeon to keep her in fags and fake-nails.

He twitched, almost burning the tip of his nose with his cigarette as the Raid team burst out of the dungeon.

He scanned them all until he saw that dumb fucking pointy hat and relaxed.

Mary had the kid by the scruff of his neck, wheezing as she tried to drag more air into her lungs, the kid was half holding her up and in his hand was a simple carved wooden wand. The older woman's ginger-grey hair was tightly pulled back and frizzing unattractively around her sweaty red face as she gratefully snatched an offered bottle of water from one of the other raiders. Half of it down the hatch before she started cursing.

The kid's face was hard to read under that mask, but he looked irritated, especially when Mary raised a hand as if to smack him – Paul stiffened, dropping his cigarette to step in, only to have the woman grab the brim of the kid's dumb hat and yank it down over his face instead.

He snorted as the kid squawked and yanked it up to swear at her while she cackled.

“Everything go alright?” he asked, sauntering over.

Mary shot him a dismissive look, “Beak out, Bellamy. This is my kid now,” she dismissed.

“Eat me, bitch. Finder's keepers,” he declared, equally dismissive even as he smirked at the look on the kid's face, peering between the two of them anxiously. He jerked a thumb to where the others were laid out on the grass, “Go relax for a second while I deal with the bitch,” he ordered.

The kid glanced between them and then quickly escaped.

Mary's smirk faded as she turned her back on the kid, the two of them looking at the beginning to waver dungeon gate.

“You came out of there pretty hot,” Paul muttered.

She nodded, “Mmm, dungeon was bigger than expected. Largest D-rank I've ever seen. Ever hear about Double Dungeons? I'd wager money on that one being one of 'em. We had to book it once we'd beaten the boss just to get here in time,” she admitted as they watched the Gate fade out of existence in front of them, wisping away faded violet after-images. “Where the fuck did you find that kid, Paul?” she asked seriously.

He dug another cigarette out, “He found me. Wanted in on a Raid earlier this week.”

She huffed, “That's not like you. Number of brats you've told to take a hike over the years, but this is the one you bend for?” she demanded in an undertone.

He grunted and lit up, “We were down a guy. I was desperate. The kid – you've seen his get up. Any kid ever approached you with half as much forethought?” he asked rhetorically, knowing full well that no, they hadn't. “He had so much mana even I could sense it. The kid was going to go into a Gate one way or another. Better he do it in a controlled environment when we actually had a fucking healer at hand. Plus, better you and me than some fucker like Alford,” he muttered angrily.

She spat to the side, equally pissed off at the mention of his name. “Gimme one of those,” she demanded, reaching up to snatch the one in his mouth.

He slapped her fingers away, “You quit, bitch. Don't come begging for sloppy seconds.”

“Beg nothing. I'm ordering,” she scoffed, but backed down all the same. “Kid ain't a normal mage type, Paul. I'm worried,” she admitted with a scowl, folding her arms and chewing on a thumb-nail. “Multiple elemental affinities isn't unheard of, but more than two? That's a fucking media circus in the waiting when word gets out. Then there's – ” she cut herself off and looked sharply at him. “How serious about this kid are you?” she asked flatly.

He frowned at her uneasily.

“If you're just going to ditch the kid and take a pay-cheque, or are you going to stick by him properly – like you used to,” she clarified, a small apologetic grimace flickering over her face. He didn't flinch, but he did look away. Mary was pretty much the only ex of his that encouraged him to try and get back into foster care, she would say endlessly that kids would feel safer if they knew that there was a hunter in their corner, that they would actually _believe_ him when he said he could protect them. But his PTSD.... he had nightmares of getting caught in a flashback and hurting someone. He'd done it before. He wasn't allowed to work with children anymore, not because he'd hurt a child, but he had hurt other people. His criminal record because of those incidents would prevent him from passing any of the background checks needed for work with vulnerable peoples.

Paul sucked on his teeth, “...Haven't decided yet,” he admitted honestly. Mary would smack him if he weren't honest about something this serious. “Been trying not to think about it really.”

She sighed.

“Get yourselves an E-rank dungeon. Call me when you do. You, me, and the kid. Just us. We can do a full raid after, but there's something you need to see first,” she warned him seriously. “Either way, whatever's got that kid desperate for cash needs to be resolved sooner rather than later. You know the big guilds are scouting the kids, getting reservations ahead of legal age. If word gets out about this kid....”

He grimaced, “I know. I've got my guys on lock. What about yours?” he asked peering sideways at her through the cloud of cigarette smoke.

She scoffed, “Mine are all under NDA. We've been testing new equipment. Anything that happens on a raid is covered. They legally can't talk about it,” she dismissed, before jabbing him in the side, making him squawk and jump as she went _right_ for the ticklish spots, evil witch, “Which you're _also_ under y'damn drunk! That paperwork is valid for the next three years.”

He scoffed, “I can't even remember what you brought with you on that fucking hunt. The shit would I say about it? Piss off,” he growled unhappily, slapping her hand away when she went to jab him again. “Fuck off woman!” he snapped, taking three large steps back and flicking his cigarette away. “C'mon kid, got your cores? Let's get the fuck out of here before she breaks my ribs with those talons of hers and get them paid out,” he called, stalking away from her.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too Bellamy. See you next week!” she called behind him as the kid scrambled to his feet and jogged to meet him, looking between them curiously.

“What were you two talking about?” he asked, green eyes bright and peering out from under that hat looking way younger than he actually was, stupid ass kid.

Paul grabbed the brim of that hat and tugged it down over the kid's eyes, “Nun'ya.”

“N-nun'ya?” he echoed, wrestling the hat up and huffing irately.

“Yep. Nun'ya business.”

“Ugh. That was awful.”

“Still fell for it.”

“Forgive me for having apparently too high expectations of you,” the kid deadpanned sarcastically as they left the bridal path.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry had never had so much money before in his life. D-rank gates paid out double what E-ranks did on a good day, given how theirs was what Mary called a ‘double dungeon’, twice the size and trouble of a regular dungeon with double the number of monsters. Harry had taken Bellamy’s advice to heart and concentrated on filling his own bag with magical cores, Mary had gotten a bit weird when she saw him digging through the corpses but ultimately hadn’t pulled him back the way Karen had the last time but left him to it. Harry kind of wished she had because it took a while to get all the blood out from under his fingernails when he got home and the scrubbing brush hurt.

Three thousand, two hundred, and eleven pounds.

That was how much the cores he’d collected cashed out at.

Even Bellamy was stunned.

Harry’s hands shook all the way back home, he almost forgot to pull his hat and mask o& before he got on the bus back home.

In a single week.

In a single week, he’d earned almost five thousand pounds.

He could – he could leave the Dursleys. If he could convince them to let him go.

He stopped off to buy himself a sturdier lock box, swallowing hard as he realised he was going to need to be a lot more careful about where he hid his money. If his Aunt or god-forbid Dudley suspected he had large amounts of cash hidden in his room, they would tear the whole place apart looking for ‘what they were owed’. He would have to approach Vernon first, see what his feelings on getting him out of the house early were, if they were enough for him to risk admitting that he had the money for his own place. If Vernon put his foot down on getting harry out then Petunia would have to shut her mouth and deal with it – they were disgustingly old fashioned like that.

He swallowed tightly when he considered what this would mean for him. Freedom.

He could actually eat a proper meal up to the table, one that he’d made himself and could enjoy for himself. He could get clothes that he liked, that fit him, that he would look good in. he could get the comic books that he wanted instead of constantly borrowing copies off Archie. He could get new shoes that weren’t going to pinch and leak. An actual warm coat. Those stupid animal ears that Claire liked and thought looked cute on him.

He could get himself properly assessed, get ranked, and the Association wouldn’t have to tell the Dursleys because he wouldn’t be living with them – ah, no, wait, they would, because he was still a minor. Still under eighteen. They were still legally responsible for him.

Harry snuck back into the house while Petunia and Vernon were watching an Agatha Christie drama on TV in the living room, quietly gathering money into his new lockbox, carefully stacked and organised. It was completely filled. The other lockboxes was as well. He ended up having to stuff two of his old pencil cases with money as well before doing a little.... creative DIYing. He kicked the bottom panel of his wardrobe in, the wooden dowels keeping it in place snapping easily under the force of his toe. He wiggled the other end free and tugged the board out, revealing a nice, empty cavity beneath it. He tucked the lockboxes and the pencil cases in there and then carefully tapped the panel back into place before grabbing a towel and his bowl of wash products, headed into the bathroom to have a hot shower. The Dursleys weren’t going to give a damn about the hot water he was using at this time of day while they were absorbed in the TV. The hot water was heavenly on his back and shoulders and it was only then, stood under the spray, that the events of the last week really began to settle into his head.

He had Awakened. He had gone on two illegal Raids. He had almost five thousand pounds just from this week alone. If he counted everything he'd saved up, he had five thousand five-hundredish. Cash.

It felt like there was a balloon in his chest. He – so many doors were open to him now just because he had his own money. He just had to keep it safe from his Aunt and Uncle. He needed a bank account – which meant he needed to get hold of his documents in order to open one. If he opened a simple savings account, and dumped his money in there, it wouldn't matter if the Dursleys' found his lockboxes, his money would still be safe.

He huffed a sharp, unfriendly smirk under the hot water spray, time to see if all of his spell knowledge was transferable.

* * *

The next day, he waited until Petunia went off on her weekly shop and Vernon had gone around to the pub to see his friends, and snuck into their bedroom to find his documents.

They must have thought themselves particularly intelligent in getting themselves a lockbox safe they weighed more than a mini-fridge and hiding it in the bottom of the laundry cupboard, but they had forgotten that _Harry_ was the one who spent the most time putting away the fucking laundry, cleaning, and picking up after them. There was nothing hidden from him in this house unless he pointedly decided he didn't want to know. And Harry was a nosy bastard so that was exceptionally little.

He opened up the sliding mirror doors to get into it and pulled out the folded mattress protectors and spare sleeping bags that filled the bottom shelf and hid the safe from sight.

He stared down at the heavy grey box and picked up one of his elder wands.

...Moment of truth.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” he intoned carefully, twisting his wand perfectly. It was a flawless, textbook unlocking charm – that had the safe clicking open and popping up. “YES!” he yelled, throwing his arms up gleefully before shoving the lid up.

Petunia had a lot of expensive jewellery still in their fancy boxes, but he didn't give a damn about those, or the passports for the Dursley family that were also in there, Vernon's fancy cufflinks, Dudley's Christening gifts, or the small bundle of letters wrapped in an old lace ribbon (he wondered if those were the 'love letters' that Vernon had written to Petunia when they were teenagers that she sometimes spoke about still having). Under all of that, were four folders, neatly separated, and named. Vernon Dursley, Petunia Dursley nee Evans, Dudley Dursley, Harry Potter.

He pulled his file out and carefully opened it up to make sure everything was inside. A copy of his birth certificate was there, the attending doctor was listed as E.Vance, he distantly wondered if that had been Emmeline Vance who had been an Order member in the Boy Who Lived's life. Doctors' record of allergies, he hadn't known he had a mild allergy to nuts as a child, it had obviously gone away because he remembered stealing peanuts at Christmas all the time and no one stopped him. Unless.... yeah, that made sense, if he died from an allergic reaction then the Dursleys wouldn't get it in the neck and would even have a shot at getting hold of his parents' estate. Which was also in the file, along with – _along with how much a month they were receiving to take care of him_.

He saw red, and the sliding mirror door shattered.

* * *

Photocopies of his records were taken at the library, he set himself up a PO-box for his bank statements to be sent to, and then went to the bank to open his savers account, the woman at the counter had been suspicious of his age until he mentioned that he had a part-time job and his cousin kept stealing the money he got from his cash box so he wanted to pay it directly into an account where it couldn't be taken. Thankfully the bank had an automated money counting machine, all Harry would have to do is slide his card in, input his pin, present his money to the machine, the machine would count it and then put it into his account.

He left photocopies of his documents in the lock-box, and put the originals in his own, still grinding his teeth and seething furiously.

He pulled his phone out and opened up his prior contacts, waiting until Bellamy picked up, grunting a demand to know what he wanted now.

“Do you know of any Gates or Raids?” he asked through gritted teeth. Patiently waiting out the long pause.

“ _Saw notice of one outside the city at a farm. Was going to arrange something for tomorrow unless you want it now?_ ” he asked with forced nonchalance.

“Please. I need to – do something,” he choked out.

“ _Sure thing kid. I'll pick you up where we had the first Raid. Don't forget your shitty disguise. Mary'll meet us, she said she wanted to show me something anyway,_ ” he admitted before hanging up. And Harry breathed. Feeling the tight knot in the pit of his stomach slowly ease until it wasn't strangling him anymore.

He angrily dragged on his Raid clothes, grabbed his backpack, stuffed the breakfast bars, a few bottles of tapwater, the wands, and both hat and mask inside before leaving the house. He'd repaired the damage he'd done to the bedroom mirror, but oh, _oh_ , he very nearly hadn't. He had very nearly sat in that room and waited for whichever one to come home, surrounded by broken glass, and demanded answers. However, cooler heads prevailed. If it had done that, the situation would have _escalated_ , and gotten _very_ ugly.

Bellamy and Mary were waiting for him in the carpark behind the post office where his first Raid took place, the two were bickering like an old married couple, but he could clearly see that they weren't taking any of the sharp prickly words to heart, giving as good as they got. It was uncomfortable for him the first time he'd seen it, watched both of them interacting with the people around them, he had thought the sharp words and harsh language were signs of anger and callousness, but after seeing them in the dungeons and after, he kind of understood it a bit better. Harsh words to get people to straighten up and stay alive. Harsh words to one another because they knew it wouldn't hurt while hiding their own vulnerabilities. Harry had been somewhat the same towards the end, hadn't he? The Boy Who Lived and his morbid black humour that only the DA felt comfortable with. That they shared at the end.

...the end of what though...?

He paused, greeting freezing on the tip of his tongue as the world swam and wavered for a moment.

As it burned and crumbled and darkened, and blinked back to life.

His breathing stalled.

The end.

“Kid?” Bellamy called, jarring him back to the land of the living. The man was frowning at him, cigarette dropping from his fingers to be crushed under foot. “Hurry it up, we're burning daylight!” he called.

Harry shook himself and hurried over, “Sorry,” he grunted from behind his facemask.

“Hop in, brat,” Mary ordered, gesturing to the car, “Bellamy's still over the limit so he called me up to play taxi,” she declared with a hard smirk as the man in question grumbled irritably about how he would have been sober for the raid _tomorrow_. However, contrary to his expectation, an argument didn't break out over his drinking habits. The subject was left well alone as they all climbed into the car and terrible country and western music filled the vehicle.

“Can't believe you still listen to this crap,” Bellamy complained as he belted himself in.

“Only when you're with me, Princess,” Mary retorted with sugar sweet venom as she keyed the ignition and pulled out of their driving spot. “How about you brat? What's your music taste?” she asked slapping Bellamy's hand away from the music player before changing gear as she reached the roads.

Harry shrugged, “Um.... I don't really.... I like alternative rock? I don't really know music genres that well. Sorry,” he admitted with a small hidden grimace. Both Claire and Archie had such differing tastes that he was thrown into listening to an awful lot of music from the both of them, sometimes not all of it in English, so he had a massive palate of music that he liked and no idea what any genre they were from. He was pretty sure that Claire called one of them... 'K-pop'? Or 'J-rock'? Archie just scoffed and said they were anime openings which was also correct but like hell _Harry_ was going to know the difference.

“I think I've got some rock CDs in here,” Mary mused before slapping Bellamy's arm, “Stick some of those on, you big woman, if you hate country so much.” He sighed long sufferingly but did as he was told and Harry tried not to laugh, the hard knot in the pit of his stomach unravelling even further. The rest of the journey, not that it was particularly long, was spent listening to one of her mix-CDs, and listening to her and Bellamy argue even more. He could see how they came to be together, but he could also see how they would break up too. They were a good match, but in a kind of chemical reaction kind of way. He was glad they were still friends though.

The gate was a strangely large D-rank when they got there, Mary and Bellamy stopped off at the farm owner to inform him they were the hunters handling the raid tomorrow and they were just here to do preliminary scouting so they would know how to prepare everyone tomorrow. The guy let them into the field without questions and cleared off pretty quickly, not wanting to be anywhere near the Gate itself, which was good, because it meant Harry could get out of the car without having to worry.

Bellamy hefted his sword and shield up with a sigh, while Mary readied her staff. She, much like Harry, was a mage type Awakened, however, unlike him her magic was limited to the fire tree only.

“Preliminary scouting with a tank and a pair of mages,” the old man grumbled, and squawked when his ex-girlfriend slapped him dead centre on the back with her palm, _hard_.

“Exciting, huh?!” she demanded cackling boisterously before turning and grinning at Harry, “Pick up the pace kid. We're going in as soon as Princess pulls up her big girl panties.”

“Oh fuck you, bitch,” Bellamy sighed.

“Not for free,” she retorted, whip-lash quick as they headed into the gate, Harry pausing literally right before stepping in as it hit him.

Anyone watching them right now would think this was one hell of a twisted family outing. Oh god, kill him now. Brain bleach was needed, badly, badly, needed.

He shook his head rapidly to dislodge the weird thought and hurried through the gate, shivering at the weird sensation of mana sliding over his skin, be wasn't sure if he was ever going to get used to the feeling of walking through a gate. Inside, was the typical subterranean stone tunnels he had come to expect from a standard Gate Nest, the air was thick with the smell of decay and rotting flesh. He could already see both Bellamy and Mary dabbing face masks with something and pulling them on.

“Peppermint oil?” Mary offered, holding the bottle out to him with slightly creased eyes. She must have been smiling. He nodded and took it to dab the inside of his own mask, he was going to have to remember this trick because even though the smell of the putrid flesh was pervasive, the oil cut through most of it, almost painfully.

“Looks like canine-types,” Bellamy announced, readying his shield, “Here come the first wave. Get ready.”

Mary's staff ignited, and Harry swiftly filled the tunnel with lumos orbs, giving them more than enough light to see by.

“ _Undecim spiritus aeriales, vincula facti inimicum captent! Sagitta Magica, Aer Capturae!_ ” Harry called as the first wave of blood-red wolf like monsters raced around the corner, lips pulled back over unnaturally sharp dagger like fans and slavering jaws.

They were immediately bowled over with yelps as the wind bindings slapped them mid-leap and sent them tumbling to the ground where they were pinned in place and easy pickings for both Mary's fire and Bellamy's sword. The three were quiet for a time, waiting to hear the sound of further attackers, before they relaxed.

Mary gestured at Paul to watch Harry while the teenager's back was turned. Doubtful, but willing to go along with it, he did so, keeping an eye on the kid's hands as he began to pick through the stab wounds and charred remains of the dead monsters – then he saw what had obviously caught Mary's attention.

The kid removed the cores no problem, but every time he did so, a weird pale light and golden smoke rose from the wound, barely anything, barely _visible_ , he wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't been paying attention. But like a dust-cloud following a fist someone had punched through a ratty old pillow, the white and gold smoke followed the kid's hand and vanished into nothing.

“Kid, stop,” he called right before he pulled another core. Obediently, the kid did so, hand lodged between the wet ribs of the wolf-creature, peering up at him as if he'd been caught doing something wrong but wasn't sure what. “Can you pull that out slowly?” he asked with a frown as he crouched beside the kid and examined the wound.

“Put a little mana into it,” Mary suggested as she knelt beside them with a frown, “I'm getting flickers, some kind of flavour of magic but barely anything.”

The kid looked between them in bewilderment, “The _cores_ give off magic?” he suggested slowly.

Mary waved him off, “I know that. But this is a bit different. Just.... do it slow and put some mana into it.”

Suspicious but obviously not seeing a reason not to go along with it, the kid did so – too much so.

Mary made a strangled noise of surprise and even Paul could feel the buzz of mana the kid suddenly poured into the corpse. He hadn't even began to pull his hand out when the whole thing erupted into gold and white smoke, _glowing_ gold and white smoke.

The kid wheezed and yanked his hand out, dragging some kind of – of glowing golden wolf with him as he scrambled backwards, magical core clutched between bloodied fingers as he goggled at the wolf-creature in front of him. Paul swore and shoved himself between the kid and the monster, readying his shield even as he began to sweat with fear, that thing was putting out so much mana it was making his vision spin. Mary was wheezing as she readied her staff and trembled.

The wolf-creature _bowed_ to them. One leg curled up beneath itself, the other stretched forward, and it bent down, pressing its forehead to the stone floor of the tunnel.

The kid carefully peered past them.

“It – looks like.... a patronus,” he muttered uncertainly.

“The _fuck_ is a Patronus?!” Paul barked, glaring at the wolf-creature.

“It's a – kind of summoning spell. It uses pure magic and conjures a protector made out of light magic- light _mana_ ,” he corrected himself with a shake of his head. “ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” the kid commanded, pointing his wand forward, mana exploding from the tip into a familiar glowing white-and gold light. A huge bird coalesced in the tunnel, blindingly bright, the size of a horse as it landed beside the wolf-creature and then turned to the kid and bowed in a similar fashion.

The pressure of all the mana in the air was making it difficult to breathe, “G-get rid of them,” Paul gasped, vision blackening at the edges, not seeing the alarmed look the kid was throwing both him and Mary.

Immediately it was like someone turned the lights out as the huge bird vanished from sight and a huge weight lifted from his chest – but it didn't resolve the problem of the wolf-creature that was stood quietly in front of them, waiting for judgement as the kid carefully steadied him from behind. “I'm sorry, I didn't – I didn't realise that much mana would be hard for you,” he babbled anxiously, looking over at Mary who was leaning against the far wall taking deep shuddering breaths.

“No one – really – talks about it,” she gasped, mustering up more strength than he had to flash the kid a grin of gritted teeth, “It's part – of why – lower ranked hunters and – higher ranked hunters – don't – tend to – hunt together,” she explained, “And why – civilians – are always – evacuated from – areas when a – Dungeon Break – is about to happen. Too much mana – and they – pass out – sometimes they don't wake up.”

“Sleeping Beauty syndrome,” Paul muttered in agreement. A strange kind of mana intolerance according to the medical studies. Some people's bodies just didn't handle mana well. Too much of it too close and they would just fall into a coma, and their organs would start shutting down as the body went into a full on allergic reaction to itself, white blood cells attacking the internal organs. People had tried everything science could think of to deal with it, suppressing the immune system, surgically implanting mana crystals, complete mana null-rooms, it didn't matter. No one would wake. Instead there were now entire coma wards dedicated to keeping those people alive via expensive mana crystal life-support machines until a cure could be found.

The kid looked between them and the still patient wolf-creature.

He opened his mouth, only for the air to split with the sound of a howl.

“Back up,” Paul spat in annoyance, hauling both sword and shield up even though his limbs felt like jelly. They should fucking turn tail and run before they got themselves killed.

The kid grunted and dragged him backwards, side stepping him and marching forward.

“ _Undetriginta spiritus Aer!Coeuntes inimicum concidant! Sagitta Magica series Aer!!_ ” he yelled, thrusting his wand forward as more arrows of wind than Paul could count quickly flickered into existence and blasted down the tunnel, accompanied by a flash of golden light as the wolf-creature lunged at one of its former comrades and sank white teeth into its blood red throat, tearing it open like a hot knife through butter.

In very short order, there was nothing left in the tunnel.

The kid looked down at the wolf now sat obediently at his feet, it wasn't even painted with the blood it had spilled across the dungeon floor. Paul watched, heart in his throat, as the kid slowly reached out and gently touched the creature's head, and it fucking _leaned into it_. Like an actual fucking dog. Tail swishing gently across the blood-soaked stone floor.

“This is so weird,” the kid muttered quietly as he sank his fingers more firmly into the creature's fur, watching as the tail began to wag harder.

Mary moved closer to them, fearless or stupid, it was always hard to tell with her, as she dropped a hand onto the kid's shoulder and another onto the wolf's neck, ignoring how its lip curled unhappily in a silent warning growl that never came to be. Her eyes were shut as she concentrated.

“It's definitely your mana kid,” she eventually concluded, lifting her hands away and then stepping back with a bewildered look on her face. “I don't get it. That thing was _dead_ before now,” she complained, looking at the wolf in confusion. Heedless to the suddenly speculative look on the kid's face as he looked between the two, and then the plethora of fallen wolf corpses around them.

“Kid. We cannot fit twenty wolves in the fucking car,” Paul scowled, making the kid pause in what was very obviously some mental calculations, making him jolt almost guiltily and shuffle in embarrassment at having been caught (completely understandable, if he had been in that position Paul would have also been wondering the same thing).

The kid looked out over the bodies and knelt down next to another one, mana bleeding into it with a touch, the faint gold and white smokey wisps growing stronger, but not enough to suffocate them as he kept a tight rein on it. He paused then, attempting to pull it out only for nothing to happen, he couldn't grasp the smoke and yank it out the way he had before hand. And this was one of the corpses that Mary had already collected a magical core from.

The kid looked at the other wolf-creature almost as if asking it for answers. He just got a slight head-tilt and a canine-like sneeze.

_Then go. With my Blessings_.

He looked down at the wolf corpse at his knees.

“ **Stand.** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Undecim spiritus aeriales, vincula facti inimicum captent! Sagitta Magica, Aer Capturae_  
>  Eleven spirits of Wind, make shackles and capture my enemy. Magic arrows, capturing wind
> 
> _Undetriginta spiritus Aer! Coeuntes inimicum concidant! Sagitta Magica series Aer_  
>  Twenty nine spirits of wind! Cut apart my enemy! Magic arrows series of wind
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hehehe, I've been waiting for this chapter. Unlike Jin-Woo, Harry isn't going to have the convenient system to tell him all his abilities, what they do, how many spirits he can store, etc, etc. He has to discover that himself. On the flipside, he also doesn't have the System purposefully hobbling him either - the spirits he revives are as strong as the amount of mana he forces into them, so he can make an A-rank monster a D-rank spirit if he doesn't put enough mana in, but he can also make a D-rank monster an A-rank spirit if he overloads it.


	7. Chapter 7

Paul stopped him at five wolves, scowling and reminding him that they had to fit back in the car after this and he was absolutely not having some radioactive monster wolf anywhere near his bollocks. Harry didn't really take his words to heart but he did stop raising them, more than pleased with the little pack he now had. He had managed to get an idea of their various strength levels – it all depended on how much mana he poured into them before commanding them, it meant his first wolf was the strongest being both the largest and glowing the brightest, Harry could have honestly ridden it like Princess Mononoke it was so huge. He had a small one that looked more like a cub that he currently held in his arms so it wouldn't get stepped on, this was the weakest of them all. All the others ranged from regular dog sized to actual wolf sized – actual wolves were twice the size of their husky cousins so right now he had an _awful_ lot of wolf milling around him.

And both Paul and Mary seemed torn between amused(Mary), annoyed(Paul), and concerned(Both).

The problem now was that Harry didn't know what to do with them, how to banish them. He also didn't think the Dursleys would be cool with him bringing home horse sized wolves either – even if he could fit the biggest one in the car.

The wolves themselves seemingly resolved that problem as soon as he got to his feet and thought about it – they dissolved into shimmering puddles of light that immediately flowed like water to his feet. He could feel the mana he poured into them returning to him, settling into his bones like pin-points of warmth. He placed a hand on his chest, feeling them out individually.

He could... probably call them out agai-

White light burst, and the largest of the wolves appeared in front of him, startling both Mary and Paul into pulling weapons before they backed down. The wolf wagged its tail and sniffed in a decidedly smug fashion, shoving its nose into Harry's hood before dissolving into light again, becoming another pin-point in his chest.

The silence in the tunnel could have suffocated a small child.

Then Mary sighed explosively, “I'm going to have to draft an entirely new NDA about you, aren't I?” she asked rhetorically with amusement. She chubbed her chin thoughtfully, “Or maybe I could bullshit the teams?” she slid a sideways look at Paul. “Gates given an hour before they collapse, that double dungeon was a rarity, if we clear it and then stay behind saying the kid is doing research while shooing the others back....”

Paul nodded slowly, “It'd give him time to harvest more monsters. Unless there's a time limit to how long he can hold them.” Harry grimaced, feeling the pinpricks dim and flicker in something that felt an awful lot like irritation. “Or he can only hold one type.” Again, another irritated flicker.

Mary nodded, “They were all D-rank monsters, but that little pup was definitely on the lower end of E-rank, while the big one I'd rate at an A-rank, easily,” she concluded making Harry jerk and snap his head around at her in disbelief. The pinpricks in his chest flared, one smugly, one in embarrassment. She caught his look and laughed, “I've been a mage for longer than you've been alive kiddo. Paul and I,” she declared, slinging an arm around the long suffering tanker, “Have been hunting since the early days before the Association even put their socks on. I might not have Mana Nose, but my sense is finely tuned by a great deal of experience – I'm sure Paul's told you that you're definitely not low ranked, right?” she asked, her tone gentling as she stepped away from the grumpy looking man who was now scowling at the far end of the tunnel.

Harry nodded slowly, he had approached Paul thinking that he was on the lower end of the spectrum because surely he would have _felt_ a difference in himself beyond the memories and the dreams if he had been a highly ranked Awakening. Given how easily he blew away the enemies in the E-ranked dungeons and the surprise of all the others he thought perhaps he might have been C-ranked, or even a low B-rank like his mother had been. But then the D-rank dungeon happened and he found it no less easy than the E-rank and began to get a little suspicious. Mary's reaction, Tunde's speculative looks, even Bellamy's demand for him to handle the Boss on his own, they all pointed to something very different from his original assessment of himself.

“You're not even winded or shaky after reviving that wolf, are you?” Mary continued shrewdly, examining his eyes. He was forced to shake his head again. It had been startling, but he hadn't noticed any fatigue. “You poured enough mana into a D-rank creature that it felt like an A-rank, kid. And you did it without breaking a sweat,” she pointed out gently with a wry twist of her mouth and a raised eyebrow, her expression expectant.

It didn't take Harry long to figure it out.

S-rank.

She thought he was S-rank.

His stomach twisted up tightly, and he shook his head, “I – I can't be,” he refused weakly. “That – that doesn't _happen_ to people like me,” he objected.

He was Harry Potter of 10VS. He wasn't the Boy Who Lived. He wasn't the 'Chosen One'. He was the kid who had holes in his shoes, who grew up in a cupboard, who wore non-perscription glasses because his family didn't want to pay for the opticians, who'd been helpless, forgotten, and ignored his whole life. He didn't have some grand destiny like the Boy Who Lived, he didn't have an interfering old man looking out for him, his tragic backstory was echoed across millions of people around the world. He wasn't special, he didn't come from Old Money like the Boy Who Lived, his father's family weren't nobility or even upperclass. His parents were average hunters in an average guild who died in an _average_ accident. A tragic accident. But one that again, was echoed hundreds or thousands of times across the world. A gate turning red was not an isolated or unknown phenomenon, nor was it rare. Uncommon, sure. But not rare.

Bottom of the barrel people like him didn't suddenly awaken as the 1%.

Didn't suddenly become one of the hundred most _powerful_ and sought after entities on the entire planet.

His hands were shaking.

“That's enough Mary,” Bellamy grunted, suddenly appearing at Harry's side, hand on his shoulder and giving him a small push towards the gate. “We'll discuss this later when we're not in the middle of a dungeon.”

She nodded, grimacing apologetically. “Sure. Let's head back to my place. I think we could all do with a cup of tea and a sit down,” she decided and then lit a fire behind them to block the tunnel for anything coming up behind them.

* * *

Mary's bungalow was surprisingly nice, Harry was genuinely surprised by how picturesque it was.

Bright white paint, climbing trellises of vines and flowers, flower-beds of roses and other bright flowers, an immaculately kept little square of grass, a tiny paved spot where she kept her bins, and a driveway for her car. Inside was just as nice, she had a lot of water-colour paintings and photographs of herself and various people, almost all of them hunters by the look of them. Bellamy was even in a few of them, actually smiling a time or two as well. She had pale carpets, light yellow and blue walls, her bathroom was beach themed with sea-shell stamped tiles and decorations, her living room was joined into the small kitchen with a breakfast island that had a small herb-garden at one end and a collection of succulents and flowering cacti on the other.

He sat uncertainly on one of the clean green and pink floral printed couches, feeling dirty and out of place, covering one of his feet where a toe was peeking out of a hole in an ugly sock. Next to him Bellamy had just sprawled himself backwards on the couch looking aggravated and out of place, pointedly and completely ignoring the black cat that appeared from _no where_ and climbed into his lap, purring like a motor and mrrping a greeting.

Mary snorted as she came in, tray of tea and biscuits in her hand. “I can see Liquorice hasn't forgotten you,” she laughed as she set the tray down, “Help yourself kiddo. And, uh, you _can_ take the mask off, you know?” she pointed out in amusement. “If not, I think I have some straws kicking around somewhere, but I have it on good authority that tea and straws don't exactly mix well.”

Bellamy had already leaned forward to collect his mug of coffee, ignoring the cat in his lap until it tried to get its fuzzy face into his mug, at which point he dropped a hand on top of it and pushed it down against his leg, and began to stroke it. The purring increased in volume, and Mary just looked amused as he glowered at her from over his mug. Harry swallowed and – well, if he couldn't trust them then he wasn't going to be able to trust anyone with this, really. They'd put their lives in his hands in those Raids, the least he could do was trust them with his _face_.

The mask was pushed down and he nervously pulled his hat and hood off.

Mary chuckled, “Well, you're certainly better looking than I expected,” she teased, making him blush hard and immediately try to hide behind his own tea.

Paul was frowning at him, “You said you were fifteen, right?” he asked sharply.

Harry nodded, “Born July 2000.”

He went silent, sipping his coffee almost angrily. Harry looked at Mary for guidance.

Her smile was a little strange, “You're.... Well. Never mind,” she dismissed, “Let's just relax for a bit. Liquorice has the right idea,” she concluded, smiling at the cat who was sprawled out bonelessly across Paul's leg.

It took a while of them sitting in silence, holding their drinks, sipping, occasionally collecting one of the biscuits from the plate that Mary had set out for them before he found himself relaxing into the cushions behind him. This was nice. He'd never just sat with people and had a cup of tea before. All that he could hear was the sound of traffic outside, and the cat purring up a storm, the occasional breath or sigh from the other two as they drank and relaxed themselves.

Mary had clearly been waiting for everyone to finish their cups before she got to her feet and collected them, she came back five minutes later with fresh mugs and more biscuits before sitting down again.

“Right. Let's talk,” she declared, picking up a chocolate bourbon biscuit. “Kid, I know Gryff isn't your real name. I won't ask for it if you're not comfortable giving it, but we do need to know your circumstances. I might not be as _accurate_ as the Association reads, but I would definitely say you're on the S-level, that changes _everything_.”

Paul put his coffee down, “It means that the Government will bend over backwards to get you away from whatever home situation you've got,” he admitted bluntly, making Harry look at him with wide eyes. He nodded, “You said you wanted out, I've seen enough kids in bad homes to know what I'm looking at. But the fact that you're S-rank, and your family are _still alive_ speaks highly of you. The Association will do everything in their power to separate you from them because in the past, S, A, even B and C ranked Awakeners in poor situations have killed people. The UK come down harder on their Awakened than many other countries, but the more highly ranked an Awakened is, the less the Association can do to protect people from them.”

“I wouldn't – I _wouldn't!_ ” he spluttered, stung and offended, slopping tea over his fingers as he quickly put his mug down.

“We're not saying you would,” Mary soothed, pointing her biscuit at him. “But others have. The precident was made. Which means the Association can take you away from your family if they're abusive, and it won't be for any other reason than _their_ protection.”

Harry squirmed, “But – they'll want me to Hunt.”

“You don't want to be a Hunter?” Paul asked, frowning at him.

He shifted and shrugged, “I don't – I never really had any plans for the future beyond get out. Once I had my own place I thought I would work until I figured out what I wanted out of life. I only started Hunting when I realised it would give me money that could get me away from them faster.” Get him away from them faster and – it was his world too. He could fight so – so he should? Even though he hated it. “I think... if it were my choice to do it, like now, I'd be okay with it. But the Association would try to force me, wouldn't they? England only has thirteen S-class hunters, and if you're right, that'd make me fourteen.”

Paul sighed and picked up his drink, “You ain't wrong there. They'll try to talk you into it, dress it up like patriotism, fame, fortune, power, all that good stuff. But they can't force you into it, we campaigned too long and too hard for those protection laws in the early days,” he admitted before sipping his drink, something complicated written across his face. Mary smiled bitterly at the older man before her face softened as she looked at Harry.

“Do you want to tell us the circumstances? If we all put our heads together, I'm sure we can figure something out,” she declared optimistically.

Harry chewed his lower lip, frowning.

He told himself that he trusted them, but did he really? Could he trust them with this? He hadn't even trusted Ron or Hermione with the full trust of his life at the Dursleys and it had been objectively worse in this life. But – could he afford not to?

“...My parents were hunters. They died in a Red Gate incident. Mum wasn't even supposed to be there, she was on maternity leave, but they needed a healer and she was the only local available. She went. They died. I was sent to live with my Aunt and Uncle. They – hated my parents for being famous hunters, for having money, so they took it out on me.”

Telling them everything was painful. He tried not to go into detail but Paul seemed to know _exactly_ what questions to ask, questions that didn't _let_ him hide or downplay things. The cupboard, the food, the weeks spent locked away, his locked away documents, needing glasses, ducking frying pans, getting hit, kicked, _choked_. How they were stealing money from his parents estate. Dudley's Awakening and what happened after.

By the time he was done, he was angry, he was wrung out, he was sad, he felt sick, he felt _exhausted_.

And the living room was silent as Paul digested everything that Harry had explained. Somewhen during the discussion he obtained a notebook and began to write things down, and Mary had refilled their tea repeatedly while Harry vomited his entire life's story.

Mary returned with more tea and this time a plate of sandwiches.

Paul sighed, tapping his notebook. “Kid. I'm going to be frank. Ultimately it's your choice, but in both my personal and formerly professional opinion, you need to make the relevant authorities aware of what's going on, sooner rather than later, and on your own terms,” he explained flatly with a grimace. “You said your cousin is C-rank, yeah? That means he's going to know when he gets home that you've Awakened as well. C-ranks stand leagues ahead of D's, and both Mary and I can sense you. You're gunna be made the second he gets through the door. The fact that you haven't reported it and gotten yourself assessed will work against you if things get violent and a police report is made.”

“I can avoid him,” he muttered defensively, somewhere in the back of his head knowing he'd already lost this argument. But unsure if it was the twenty-something year old Auror talking with the wisdom of experience, or the scared child neither of him had ever gotten to be desperately wanting someone to just take charge and make it all better.

“Is he the type who'd let you?” Paul asked gently, with far too shrewd eyes.

Harry pulled on his sleeves and stared down at his feet, digging his toes into the thick plush carpet.

* * *

They hashed it out, and made arrangements for the next day – tomorrow, Mary and Paul would take him to the Association for his assessment and make it clear to the monitoring division what the situation was and that the usual procedure for an Awakened Minor needed to be amended.

He would sleep in Mary's spare room that night and have to skip school the next day.

Paul promised to handle the gate at the farm in the evening after their business at the Association was finished. He didn't want to leave Harry hanging while they went through his ranking and all the subsequent conversations that followed with the Association when it came to his education and housing.

Mary gave him her WiFi password, some towels for if he wanted a bath or a shower, showed him where everything was, and then left him to have some space and time by himself.

He wasn't too proud to admit what followed was pretty much almost a panic attack. He had to talk himself out of breaking the windows and running away, it was only the sheer surprise of suddenly having the room filled with glowing wolves that knocked him out of it. All five of them reacted to his heightened emotions and rushed out to defend him, only to discover that there were no threats they could rip apart, just him, panicking on his own, at the thoughts in his head.

Which was how he ended up smothered in fluff and tongues, and falling asleep on the floor of Mary's spare room, pillowed and blanketed by summons.

And if the largest of them opened icy blue eyes and licked and nuzzled at its master's forehead until the nightmares that gripped him faded away, no one would be there to see it. Not even Harry as his sleep eased into something far sweeter.

The next morning he took the shower, Mary made tea and toast and Harry got to choose what topping he had instead of just plain bread. He decided to copy her and have honey, she laughed at the look of fascinated delight on his face when he took his first bite and encouraged him to have more. He got worried texts from both Claire and Archie, wondering where he was, and messaged that he was going to see someone about the Dursleys – that set both of them off, wondering what was wrong, had they hurt him, where was he, did he need any help, they would put him up if he needed it. Claire suddenly went quiet and Archie not long after – he chuckled when the slew of massages suddenly died.

They probably got their phones confiscated.

Paul showed up at half-past nine. Harry actually blinked in startled bewilderment, not recognising the man marching through the living room at first. He had shaved, combed his hair back, and wore a suit with a smart blue tie. It strained a little on his broad shoulders and deep chest, flashing a little bit of wrist and wrinkling only slightly while it was done up, but Mary was quick to open said jacket and scold him about wrinkling his clothes. She had dressed up as well, her greying ginger hair loose and blow-dried into waves, a green silk blouse and dark red knee-length skirt with tights and kitten heeled ankle boots, she even had make-up and matching green jewellery on.

“Do we have time to get him something to wear?” Mary asked glancing at Harry.

Paul nodded, “If we're quick and he doesn't mind changing in the car,” he grunted, “C'mon kid. We'll stop off at the Peacocks on the highstreet, get you a shirt and tie. What's your size?” he asked as he lead them out to his car.

“S-small,” he lied with a fierce blush. If he were to wear shirts that fit, they would be from the 11-13 year old age range. He did not have a large build.

The drive was quick, and they pulled down a side-street where Mary jumped out of the car to rush into the small clothing store around the corner. Paul didn't even bother turning the engine off, just patiently waited the ten minutes it took before she reappeared at a jog with a back swinging from her hand. She passed it to Harry as she got in and inside was a simple white shirt, and a green tie with little green geckos and blue dots on it.

Harry changed as they drove down the highstreet and into the city centre where the bureau would do his initial test –

“When it comes back as 'incalculable', they'll know you're S-rank and begin proceedings,” Paul explained as they stopped at the round about to let the incoming traffic pass. “When that happens, you'll end up having to go to the HQ up in London, but don't worry, both Mary and I will come with you for that. But when your test is done here, we'll have to begin proceedings against your Aunt and Uncle pretty much immediately if you don't want them to be informed.”

“Right,” Harry muttered, wondering if anyone would get upset if he summoned one of the wolves for – he quickly clamped down on his mana before they manifested, Mary stiffening in her seat and looking around at him. He wobbled a sickly smile at her and she barked a disbelieving laugh, drawing an irritated scowl of confusion from Paul as he slowed to let a bus merge in front of them.

Thankfully the wolves didn't burst out of him as soon as he relaxed his stranglehold on his mana, and Paul was able to park in the multistory without incident.

The bureau was surprisingly busy when they walked in, there were a number of low ranked hunters, a handful of Guild recruiters just hanging around. Several people glanced towards them, pausing when they saw Harry before glancing at Paul's absolutely forbidding features and the sweet smile on Mary's and then finding their phones incredibly fascinating. The hunters who noticed this by-play between their colleagues and the Guild recruiters seemed to think this was hilarious but were quick to stifle their laughter or turn away to hide it.

“Hunter Bellamy, Hunter Roberts,” an older man at the counter greeted before looking at Harry, and then at the Guild recruiters behind them. “This way please,” he requested, gesturing at them to follow him into the back where a little meeting room was set aside, not unlike the same little booth that Harry had been in at the bank when opening his new account.

The man gestured at them all to sit and then looked at Harry, “So, this is the young Awakened. A pleasure to meet you, young man. I'm Neil Lamont, I'm a B-rank mage here with the Association, and I'll be handling your ranking. Now,” he began opening the slim black portfolio he had been carrying, “Hunter Bellamy informs he that you have a bad home-life and do not wish for your relatives to be involved with your ranking. We can input the appropriate measures. Normally there would have to be an investigation first, but given Hunter Bellamy's former qualifications and the information provided I can't see that taking particularly long.”

He nodded, stomach churning and hands sweating. He could feel the wolves stirring in his chest and had to swallow down his anxiety, he didn't think having them appear would do him any favours here in the Association.

“If you'll follow me, we'll take you to the assessment room, there will be a little bit of a wait. Do you want Hunter Bellamy and Hunter Roberts to come with you?” Mister Lamont asked kindly.

Harry glanced over to them and Mary smiled, “How about I come with you?” she suggested brightly, “That'll give Paul the chance to brief Neil here about what you shared with us.”

He looked over at Paul who nodded shortly, “Go ahead. Ranking test is literally just putting your hand on a metal snowglobe and pushing mana in it still the person behind the counter tells you to stop. You'll be fine. It's a piece of piss,” he assured the kid, scruffing his hair and smirking a little when he shoved the hand away with a scowl.

They separated, Mary leading Harry to a small sitting area like at the dentists' or the doctors' where everyone sat on padded blue chairs that looked like they'd been bulk bought from IKEA. There was a ticket machine and several other people all waiting to be seen to.

Mary got them a ticket and sat down cheerfully beside him, “You'll be fine. Paul will make sure your Aunt and Uncle can't lay another finger on you. And if that doesn't work, I'll just kill them,” she promised, making him and three of the other people around them turn and look at her. The smile she gave was pure predator, “Anyone that raises a hand to a child is a monster and should be hunted like the monsters they are, don't you agree?” she asked sickeningly.

The others quickly looked away, and she managed to maintain the twisted smile for all of a heartbeat longer before snorting and bursting out laughing.

“Jeez! Learn to take a joke!! Ahahaha! But seriously.” She stopped laughing, looking at him firmly, “Say the word. I'll bury them.”

“P-please do not.”

* * *

“Number thirteen?” Lauren Holding called, peering out into the waiting area. A young teenager got to his feet, looking nervous as his mother followed after him. “Hi, I'm Lauren,” she greeted, deciding to put the poor thing at ease as they stepped into the short corridor to the measuring room. “Do you have an idea of what the ranking process is?” she asked cheerfully, a little surprised when he nodded and glanced to his mum.

“I'm a D-rank,” the woman informed her cheerfully, completely unself-conscious of her low ranking. Which.... Lauren's eyes lingered on the woman's surprisingly muscular biceps with a mixture of admiration and astonishment. She _clearly_ wasn't retired.

“Great. I'll need you to give me your personal details once we get inside. Do you happen to have your ID with you?” she asked, glad that she didn't have to go through the whole lecture of what to expect for once.

The kid shook his head, “My Aunt and Uncle won't let me have them.”

Wait.

Lauren looked at the woman who suddenly laughed, “Oh god no! He's _not_ my son,” she laughed, dropping a hand on the suddenly red faced teenager. “No, I'd be a terrible mother. He's a good kid. I guess you could call me surrogate step-mom for the day?” she suggested playfully, ruffling his hair with a grin. “Just consider me and my hunting partner to be the only responsible adults in his life and leave it there.”

Oh boy, abused kids in an Awakening. She hated situations like this. The family always got weird and possessive as soon as they learned their kids had potential futures as personal cash cows. She wondered if these so called 'responsible adults' were really looking out for the kid, or hoping to cash in on him.... she hoped it was the former, for the kid's sake. He seemed sweet in a shy kind of way.

“Alright then. Right this way,” she requested, guiding them into the main room where the large mana reader was suspended from the ceiling. She gestured at him to stand on the plate and place his hand on the print laid out before heading to the console. “Okie dokie, can I get your full name, date of birth, and current address, please?”

The kid grimaced, glancing at the woman, before looking back at her, “Harry James Potter. Thirty first of July 2000. Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, SU3 8LG.”

She keyed them in and beamed when the database took only a few seconds to kick in. “Wonderful. There you are. When you're ready, please push as much mana as you can into the machine. A number will pop up on my screen and that will tell me where to rank you. Okay? Begin,” she called, taking a moment to flag his file appropriately for careful handling, hitting the tick-boxes for underage and 'other' – inputting the words 'abusive family' into the notes so that the Monitoring division would know how to handle the results which should be coming through in just a second.

**[ ERROR ERROR ]**

“...eh?” She frowned at the flashing message and reset the machine. “Could you try once again please?” she called, watching carefully as he did as instructed, frowning and _visibly_ pushing mana into the orb. The metal actually rippling under his fingertips.

**[ ERROR ERROR ]**   
**[ IMMEASURABLE ]**

**[ ERROR ERROR ]**   
**[ IMMEASURABLE ]**

**[ ERROR ERROR ]**   
**[ IMMEASURABLE ]**


	8. Chapter 8

**WORLD’S YOUNGEST S-RANKER**

**HARRY POTTER – UK’S NUMBER 16**

**TEEN S-RANKER REMOVED FROM ABUSIVE GUARDIANS**

**LOCAL TEEN AWAKENS AT S-RANK**

Harry wanted to go back in time and shake himself – illegal hunting would have been better than this. Putting up with the Dursleys and Dudley for another three years would have been better than this. He regretted coming forward for assessment, he regretted it _intensely_.

After the initial test result, the woman in charge of his assessment, Lauren, had gone to fetch her superior who took one look at his result and paled by degrees. He attempted to put off their assessment in order to get a more refined sensor but Mary shut him down, calmly informing him that she was aware of the procedure but the situation was more complicated than he was aware of, they would be remaining and speaking with Neil Lamont once Hunter Bellamy had finished briefing him.

They were escorted to a much nicer meeting room after that, the man who still hadn’t introduced himself practically falling over in his desperation to make sure they were comfortable, offering to fetch tea, coffee, pastries, etc. Mary sent him off with a request for whatever tea or coffee they had in the cupboard before messing with the temperature controls in the room, ramping the heat up with a sigh of relief.

“I hate how offices are always colder than a witch’s tit,” she complained as she sat back down, rubbing away the goose-flesh on her arms. “Even Dungeons manage to be warmer and they see even less daylight.”

And then Paul came in with Mister Lamont and the panicking guy with their drinks.

The talk from there was straight to the point. There was no denying or hiding the fact that he was S-ranked, they would arrange for a full assessment later on at their HQ, but for now, their priority would be removing him from his Aunt and Uncle and into protective custody. Harry was entirely out of his depth, listening quietly while he held his drink between his too cold hands was Mary and Paul questioned, rejected, argued, and agreed with what was being discussed and arranged for him. All he had to do was nod or shake his head when they turned around and explained things and asked whether he was alright with that or not – he could feel his throat getting thicker and his eyes beginning to ache as he realised for the first time in either of his lives that someone was making this _right_ for him. He just had to say what he wanted and they would make it happen for him.

Mary didn’t even look at him as she placed a hand on his knee under the table, listening to Mister Lamont as he explained about the boarding school that Harry would have to attend as an underaged high-ranker. This at least he had expected. Petunia had wailed and sobbed and thrown all manner of hysterical fits when Dudley awakened at C-rank, sobbing about how her baby was going to be taken away to a school she didn’t approve of and all this, that, and the other, blah blah blah, woe is me, how terrible my government is, how tyrannical. Only to immediately be shut up when the long-suffering Association woman in charge of their case quite bluntly pointed out that Dudley was too low ranking to be the target of harassment campaigns by Guilds or newspaper paparazzi, he could continue his education at his current school without interference. That had taken the wind right out of her sails, and blown it into Vernon’s as he kicked off about how they didn’t think Dudley was good enough for them. Harry had made himself as scarce as he physically could that year, then Dudley came home and broke his foot and his arm for being snidey at him.

The Association were exceptionally eager to make sure he and Dudley never crossed paths again.

The plan was eventually hashed out as followed: All four of them and a handful of Association volunteers would go to the Dursley residence once finished here and collect Harry’s belongings and action the investigation into his home-life then and there. It would give them the opportunity to investigate the residence before Vernon or Petunia could hide anything. Harry and his belongings would then be taken to Mary’s. He would be left in the care of the hunter mage while Paul worked with the local Child Protective Services and Association volunteers to obtain his school records and action the immediate transfer to the Queen Elizabeth Academy. Once the administration had gone through, dormitory space was allocated, and lessons arranged, he would be taken to his new school and allowed to settle in. The only time he would see his relatives after that would be if their investigation reached the courts. Harry didn’t have much hope that it wouldn’t. The Dursleys would fight to keep custody if only to make him miserable and in the hopes of getting more money out of him in the future.

And then it was all action and motion.

They were bundled back into the car and driven to the Dursleys’. Harry could feel his stomach churning violently at the prospect of what they were about to do as they pulled up in front of the house.

And found it empty.

Harry felt almost hysterical as all the tension just popped and drained out of him, like a gross sickly pustule as he let them all into the house, shivering as Paul and Mary took a look at all the pictures that plastered the walls of the hallway and the living room – all without a single glimpse of a dark haired little boy with green eyes. The investigation team prowled through the house, examining everything carefully, Harry meanwhile retreated to his bedroom and began to pull his money out of its various hiding places. The astonishment he received when he opened up the light-fixtures and pulled out the rolls of cash, when he unscrewed the top of his bedpost and used a stick with a magnet attached to pull a baggy with yet _more_ money rolled up in it from the hollowed inside, when he lifted the box off the top of the boiler and pulled out a plastic wallet filled with more notes, and then opened up the bottom of his wardrobe for the lock boxes and the pencil cases. Harry had money squirreled away in so many different places in his room it was honestly a little amusing to see the reactions of people when he pulled yet _more_ of it from unexpected locations. Like envelopes sellotaped to the underside of his sock-draw.

He emptied everything and boxed it up carefully, making sure that his money was kept with him or secured properly. He grabbed those important presents he received from Archie and Claire, from the girls at the green grocers’ when they found out it was his birthday, the books he got at the free-cycle tables at the library and the community centre. He didn’t have an awful lot in the grand scheme of things, not things he could reliably call his own and comfortably take without the Dursleys’ screaming theft – something he very reluctantly explained when Mister Lamont questioned why he wasn’t packing more.

Then Petunia came home, and the screaming started.

Harry didn’t remember an awful lot but somehow things got to a point where his Aunt tried to attack him and suddenly Mary had her face down on the ground, eating grass, in a vicious armlock that had her screaming again, this time in pain. Paul quickly pulled him away and got him and the few boxes of his stuff into the car while the Association and Mary dealt with his Aunt, and inevitably the neighbours when they started coming outside to see what all the fuss was about.

Paul drove him to Mary’s place and let them in with his own key. Harry found himself pushed onto one of the sofas in the front room, a cat unceremoniously dropped into his lap, the duvet from the spare bedroom soon following and landing on top of his head before the man made a cup of tea for him. Harry was left to calm down under the power of tea and a purring cat and a thick blanket while the hunter hauled his very few belongings out of the car, dropped them off in the spare bedroom and then went off to go and collect Mary.

He got several texts from both Archie and Claire after classes end and eventually came clean to them, explaining about his Awakening and how the hunters had managed to talk him into getting an assessment and how he was being taken away from the Dursleys. They were genuinely happy for him, but sad now that he wouldn’t be staying with them in Stonewall (Claire seemed to think it would have been hilarious to watch the likes of Cheryl and Annette, the hunter fangirls who had treated him so terribly in their first few years there, react to finding out he was an S-rank and that he hated them).

Someone, one of the neighbours or maybe one of the volunteers, must have blabbed though.

The next day the newspapers, the internet, the TV, the radio, all of them were screaming about him and his phone had blown up with messages from both Archie and Claire telling him not to come to school even if he was allowed because the place was _crawling_ with press. Everywhere he looked online there were people talking about him, speculating on what ‘the youngest S-rank’ was like, what his Awakening was, how the hell his Guardians were still alive – were they still alive? Was the Association covering up their messy murders? Who was this kid anyway?

Harry put his phone down, rolled over, shoved his head under the nearest wolf, and pretended he didn’t exist.

Thankfully, word hadn’t yet gotten out that morning that he was staying with Mary so they were able to get washed, dressed, and eat breakfast ready for the drive to London and his proper assessment unmolested, or photographed. Paul was in a find (foul) mood when he came to pick them up, grumping about how the Association had taken the gate off him and assigned it to someone else so he would be available for Harry today. He got reimbursed for it so he wasn’t too angry, but he grumbled about having to be sober for several days in a row now for the very minor reason of just driving. Mary just scoffed and offered him some Irish coffee, saying she could drive them if he wanted to be such a bloody woman about it.

He did not have an Irish coffee, whatever that was (probably alcoholic).

It didn’t take too long to drive to London from Surrey, an hour at most, the remaining forty five minutes was spent negotiating, and outright fighting, against the London traffic. The Association HQ was heaving with press when they drove past looking for a good place to park and Harry hunkered down in his seat feeling sick all of a sudden. Thankfully, no one was looking their way and they were able to just drive on past without issue, but Harry knew the moment that any teenager got near that crowd they were going to make Assumptions.

“Let’s check the back door,” Mary decided, drawing a grunt of agreement from Paul as he circled the building and attempted to access the rear – where there were double the number of reporters, and they _were_ looking into the cars that pulled up at the security gate queue.

It took only one of them to spot Harry before the car was _swarmed_ , and then trapped in place by people practically pressed bodily against the vehicle. Cameras were going off so rapidly that the flashes were blinding, and people were shouting and yelling hard through the glass of the windows, pushing and shoving one another to try and get photos of him, of Mary, or Paul.

Then someone on the opposite side of the vehicle opened the door opposite to him, and the noise exploded, Mary snarled, Paul bellowed something, and a glowing wolf almost took a man’s arm off.

Harry lunged forward with a shout, practically strangling himself with his seatbelt as he dug his fingers into the giant wolf’s ruff and hauled him back before those teeth could do more than scare the hapless reporter that stupidly attempted to get into the vehicle. That was when the Association employees burst in on the scene and security arrived to arrest every single one of them, confiscating cameras, recorders, phones, and hauling all of them away while Harry buried his face into glowing fur and groaned pathetically. The wolf, the largest of the pack that Harry had somewhat jokingly named Moro after the giant wolf mother in Princess Mononoke, remained exactly where it was, half on top of him, fur bristling, watching everyone and everything with glowing eyes and faintly pulled back lips, growl rumbling deep and threateningly in its chest.

“Good thing you got there first,” Mary declared, reaching over the back of her seat to pat the giant creature’s head fearlessly, “I was about to chargrill the bastard.”

“Please don’t kill people,” Harry begged, his voice muffled in fluff.

Paul snorted, “Burnt flesh is a bitch to get rid of. Do it somewhere that isn’t halfway in my car,” he complained half-heartedly. It wasn’t the excuse Harry wanted, but he would fucking take it if it prevented her from murdering anyone.

Security waved them through into the carpark once the last of the press were removed from the scene, and once they found a visitor’s bay at the back close to the entrance Moro was actually the first one out of the car. She pawed open the door and wriggled herself out, straightening up with her head standing taller than the car roof, making the security guards and various Association members that had come out to greet them pause very nervously.

Mary cackled as she climbed out of the car, and Paul just huffed in silence and waited for Harry to get out before locking the vehicle and slouching towards the back entrance.

“You know, my life was never this complicated until you showed up,” he complained half-heartedly, “Ignore the bloody wolf, you morons, or can’t you tell a summon from a monster?” he demanded loudly, scoffing at the more highly ranked individuals around them.

Moro straightened up smugly and sniffed before circling Harry and nosing at him encouragingly. He grimaced at the creature but followed after the two D-rankers, tangling a hand in her ruff for comfort. Magical press were never that aggressive. He didn’t like it at all, not a single bit. Was he going to have to deal with that his entire life? He paused just before they got to the door and looked back at all the security and the Association members who had rushed out to help him and swallowed hard.

“Th-thanks for – for – thanks,” he faltered before quickly hurrying after his minders, feeling his face beginning to go red at the fact he couldn’t even fucking say _thank you_ properly. This was a goddamn mess. He _wasn’t_ the Boy Who Lived, damnit. He didn’t know how to do this.

Moro huffed and nosed at his face.

The Association Building was very modern, lots of bright lights, glass, and modern art that was all smooth lines or sharp geometric patterns in primary or monochrome colours. Men and women in suits walked around and stopped to stare at him and Moro whenever they spotted him, conversations stopping in favour of gaping. The wolf glowered at them and Harry had to fight the huge to hide behind her even as Mary cheerfully advised the closest pair to wind their necks in and get back to work. Seemingly realising they were being rude, they immediately hurried away, glancing backwards at him in awe.

Harry grimaced miserably.

Was it too late to change his mind, he wondered, looking almost pleadingly at Paul who snorted and shook his head.

“Hunter Bellamy, Hunter Roberts, Mister Potter,” a woman greeted as she marched over, her neat black high-heels clicking almost threateningly on the tiled floor as she approached. She was a very attractive late thirty-something blonde with thin black square glasses and dark red lipstick in a smart black skirt-suit. “My name is Holly Vass. Pleasure to meet you,” she greeted, shaking Paul’s hand, then Mary’s, then sticking her hand out to Harry as well. Her grip was gentle but not delicate. She shook his hand exactly the same way as the others, turned to Moro, paused, and nodded to the wolf instead of offering her hand. “If you would come with me please, we have a meeting room set aside for you.”

“Sure. Lead the way,” Paul grunted, tilting his head as they followed the woman down the corridor, his eyes definitely on something lower than her shoulders. Mary smacked him, “Ow, what the hell woman?” he demanded irritably, and then flushed and looked away when she threw a pointed glance in Harry’s direction, grumbling about hoe he was just trying to figure out what make of knife that was. Which clued Harry into the fact that there was more to Ms Vass than he’d first assumed because that _was_ something sheathed against the small of her back.

“The Fang of Atri,” she informed them as they walked down the corridor and she used her pass to gain them access to a small security centre. “As an A-rank assassin the Association like to give me first pick of their sparkly daggers, and really, what girl could resist?” she asked playfully with a grin at Mary as she unsheathed said very sparkly and shiny and _lethal_ looking dagger to show it off to the ginger haired woman who was abruptly was all smiles and teeth herself.

“Oh I like you,” she decided cheerfully, making Ms Vass laugh.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Hunter Roberts,” she practically purred, and Harry had the very uncomfortable realisation that she was _flirting_ with Mary. He looked at Paul who seemed torn between interested and disgusted and frightened, but in the end just shrugged and gestured Harry towards the visitor’s book where they had to sign in.

“Let’s leave them to it,” he muttered in an undertone as Mary laughed at something.

He wondered how awkward this was for Paul, listening to his ex-girlfriend flirting with a very pretty woman right in front of him, before deciding it wasn’t his business and quickly writing himself down. The security guard looked amused as he directed them to stand in front of the webcam to have their picture taken for a visitor pass.

“Is the Big Bad Wolf going to be remaining with you, Mister Potter?” the guard asked with a grin as he peered over at Moro, “We can make up a pass for them too.”

It was just ridiculous enough that Harry couldn’t help but grin like the fifteen year old he actually was and agree, delighted, as Moro got to sit for her own visitor pass and the guard used three lanyards tied end to end to create a collar for her. Harry pretended not to hear the other guard laughing and commenting how they had another one for the wall of fame, taking the picture of a summoning was an absolute first and deserved to be up there along with the politician who apparently wore a boot for a hat and refused to be separated with it for his ID picture. Or indeed his entire visit. Harry, who was familiar with this particular politician thanks to Archie and Claire, was incredibly pleased to discover that Moro would be sharing wall space with the head of the Monster Raving Loony Party.

Mary got her ID after Moro and the small group of them followed a smiling Ms Vass through another access controlled door and down a much nicer looking corridor to a set of elevators that went up. “Your assessment will happen in the sub-basement levels, but for now the head of the Association would like to meet with you, Mister Potter. It’s just a little meet and greet I promise,” Ms Vass explained as the lift opened and – _Percy Weasley stepped out_ , giving her a small nod and smile before hurrying down the corridor and away. He was... what... nineteen right now? What was he doing here?

Harry nodded to her as they all stepped into the lift, “Do you... usually take people so young?” he asked warily, nodding at Percy’s departing back as he let himself into one of the offices further down the corridor.

Ms Vass’ smile was a bit awkward but understanding as she pushed the appropriate buttons for them to go upwards to the top floor. “Only the truly exceptional but yes. Mister Weasley there was one of our early Awakeners from Queen Elizabeth Academy, he did his work experience with us when he was about your age and has been with us since his graduation as a work-placement student in our Monitoring division doing his university degree.” Her smile was fond, “You will likely be offered similar opportunities. The UK Hunter Association has been lucky in that we have managed to cultivate a larger number of S-rank employees than most Associations who do not make it mandatory world wide,” she explained as the lift doors opened into a small quite nice lobby.

She lead them to one of the doors on the left that opened into a very pleasant looking conference room that was already occupied by an older white man with salt-and-pepper dark hair and glasses. He smiled, revealing dimples, and got to his feet.

“Thank you Holly. Welcome everyone, I am John Warner, Chairman of the UK Hunter Association, thank you for coming,” he said, coming over to shake their hands. He gave Moro a wide berth and managed not to look too uncomfortable with the huge wolf so close by, Harry kind of got the feeling he was a low ranker or a normal person who obtained his position by being a very good businessman/manager. The UK was somewhat different from many of the other Associations in that a high rank was not a requirement for the position of chairman – just a determination to do right by the hunters themselves.

Paul's smile was sharp, “You do this for all the kids who rank?” he asked with only a little sarcasm as he shook the man's hand.

Mister Warner's smile was fixed and uncomfortable, “No. I will be honest we don't. But young Harry is not just any child with a rank, is he?” he pointed out calmly before turning to him. “First of all, I would like to apologise.”

That took them all by surprise and he nodded with a slightly wry smile as he gestured for them all to sit, he returned to his seat and Ms Vass stood behind him, looking more like a bodyguard than anything.

“Apologise for what?” Harry asked carefully, feeling Moro's tail against his leg as she lay down. As soon as she was out of sight beneath the table, he saw Mister Warner relax a little.

“You are a minor,” the chairman pointed out, “S-rank or not, it is illegal to disclose your name or identity to the press. One of my staff members did such a thing and the result was the altercation that occurred as you drove in. So, I apologise for not taking the Association's oversight in not vetting its members thoroughly enough and preventing this incident. The individual in question has been let go and will face legal action in the face of breaking their employment contract.”

Harry nodded slowly, still feeling entirely out of his depth.

Mister Warner continued to smile though the lack of overt reaction one way or the other seemed to unsettle him a bit, “We will also be pursuing legal action against the publications that used your name and pictures without consent. Unfortunately there is nothing we can do to take the information back, but in the meanwhile we will issue a gag order on all other private information if that is your wish.” Harry nodded rapidly, and Mister Warner relaxed at the first clear sign that he'd done something correctly. “It will be done. Holly, please make a note to remind me.”

“Of course,” she intoned, pulling a smart phone from her pocket and beginning to make a few notes.

“Your attendance at Queen Elizabeth Academy has already begun processing, we're just waiting on Stonewall to provide all of your records. Your GP has provided everything they have on file, but we don't have a dentist or optometrist on record for you, do you perhaps know – ” he trailed off as Harry shook his head.

“Aunt Petunia never took me to either one officially,” he admitted with an uncomfortable shift, “There was the Tooth Van that came to the city centre, if we were shopping and she saw it she would drop me off there and finish before picking me up.”

Mister Warner's expression was stiff and unhappy, “I see. Well, we'll arrange for a complete health check up then, if that's alright with you? The sooner we catch any issues, the quicker they can be addressed and a clean bill of health can be given out,” he announced with a terribly forced smile. Harry found himself smiling a little. Damn this guy was awkward as hell. He was trying so hard to be nice and cheerful and personable when it clearly wasn't his personality.

“I would, of course, love to get to know you Harry, but I'm sure you're eager to get on with your assessment?” the man suggested almost hopefully, making the teenager nod and suppress a grin. “Then let's head downstairs and get started.”


	9. Chapter 9

“This sub-basement is ten feet of solid magically reinforced concrete, layered tungsten, and A-rank armoured hide,” the chairman bragged as he presented Harry, Mary, and Paul with the assessment chamber. It was a huge football pitch sized space hundreds of feet below street level. “We are currently in talks with the Isle of White about taking that space over as an appropriate training ground, but the heritage association are proving difficult to negotiate with. So in the mean time, I am sorry but all S and A-rank assessments will occur in here.”

Harry wasn’t sure why the man was apologising, it wasn’t like the room was inadequate he thought. Ten feet of magically reinforced concrete, tungsten layers, and the leather, scales, and chitin of A-ranked monsters layered in there as well. This was probably the most reinforced location in the whole of the UK, if he couldn’t demonstrate his power in here then where the hell could he? Admittedly he would have preferred not to do it _beneath_ London, but he doubted he would be able to do any damage to anything in here, not really.

Ms Vass stepped forward with a smile, “I don’t know what you may have heard online, but we’ll be putting you through your paces today and testing more than just what Awakening type you are. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the changing rooms and find some appropriate kit for you,” she explained gesturing at him to follow. Behind him, he could hear Mary commenting on how they’d never had to do such things, and the chairman explaining that anyone under C-rank generally weren’t expected to as the internal rankings didn’t apply to them.

“What’s an internal ranking?” he asked, peering up at the blonde woman as she lead him into a small clean changing room with a handful of neat blue lockers.

“Well, you’re familiar with the S, A, B, C, D, and E ranks, yes? Internal rankings are within them. This test for instance is to see whether you stand as a simple S-rank, a double S, or triple S. Every rank assessment C and higher will go through this same test. Because D and E-ranks are considered so minor in terms of power there hasn’t been need or cause for further ranking within them. After all, the difference between a powerful D-rank and a weak E-rank still isn’t even half the difference between a C and a double C,” she explained kindly as she headed to a cupboard in the far side of the room and began to pull out pale grey trousers and t-shirts, holding them up and eyeing Harry before refolding and returning them and pulling another set out.

He hummed, that... kind of made sense. He recalled from Dudley's texts that there were power tiers amongst A-ranks in particular because a strong A-rank was permitted to go on S-rank raids if they were either mage, healer, or ranger class. Specifically backline. S-rank raids, if there were no S-rankers, could only be undertaken with a team of high tier A-rankers if they were _all_ A-rank. Absolutely no one under top-tier A was even permitted to see the inside of an S-Gate. However, he knew that the number and size of S-rank gates had been growing in recent years. There was a lot of speculation online and Claire ate that conspiracy theory stuff with a spoon – apparently some of the servers she had been following identified that the gates were coming in waves of escalation. A steady build up of increasing activity and then a crest of either red gates or an S-rank before it died back down again, and then began to increase again. Like the waves at a beach, but they kept creeping closer and closer to the sandcastle that was human civilisation as the crest continued to get more and more dangerous. He would have to ask her for more information.

“There we go, they’ll be a bit baggy, but they should fit,” Ms Vass declared, setting down some folded clothes on the bench in front of him. “I’ll be just outside when you’re ready. Lock your things in any locker you like and you can give the key to one of your companions while we assess you.”

He nodded as she left the room and changed out of his shirt and school trousers, putting them into the locker before taking the key and putting his shoes back on.

Ms Vass smiled as he stopped out and lead him back to the assessment area. He gave Paul his key, the man tucking it into his pocket and ruffling his hair with a quiet ‘you’ve got this’ for encouragement.

Ms Vass had changed out of her jacket and kicked off her heels, now stood in front of him with barefeet in just her shirt and skirt, “We will begin with warming up, do as I do, we’ll see how your dexterity and flexibility are right off the bat. Remember, this is not a test, there’s no failing here, we just want to see where you are,” she explained soothingly and began to take him through a number of uncomfortably bendy stretches that he could _technically_ do, but was very graceless and awkward in the process. Several of his joints also popped very loudly as he did so much to his embarrassment as he heard Mary laugh and comment on how that sounded juicy.

She then had him try several pushes and pulls against her, “You will always beat me in a contest of strength,” she explained as her feet slid with a painful squeal of bare flesh against polished linoleum. “However, you’re also young right now,” she dug her feet in and stopped him dead. “It is a common misconception that Awakened do not grow,” she continued with a grunt, sweat beginning to bead on her head as Harry threw his weight into it and the floor _cracked_ – he immediately jerked backwards and she laughed. “Don’t worry, this room is layered for a reason. Each layer is designed to crumple a little to protect the layer beneath it and disperse damage. Give me your all,” she commanded, making a come hither gesture even as he hesitated before grasping her hands again and pushing as hard as he could.

The floor did crumble, and shatter under her feet, she grunted, trying to push against him but finding herself forced back before she folded herself backwards and heaved.

Harry squeaked as he was thrown skywards. Flailing in midair until he managed to get his feet under him and land with a thump.

“It is a common misconception that Awakened do not grow,” Ms Vass continued, grinning as he got to his feet, “You’re young, you still _have_ growing to do. And your ability will grow with you. Admittedly in such small amounts they cannot be registered. An E-rank Awakened will never be more than an E-ranked Awakened. However, when I awakened, I was nine years old and a high double A. By the time I was nineteen, that double A had grown to a triple A purely because I myself had grown taller, faster, and smarter about how I utilised my abilities,” she explained, gesturing to her arms, legs, and then her head with a smirk. “Your strength is considerable. But you don’t know how to use it yet, and you’re hesitant about hurting others, especially someone you know is a lower rank than yourself.” Her smile went soft, “It’s good to see.”

Harry went pink, looking down and away in embarrassment.

She straightened up and clapped her hands, “Let’s take a look at speed. The object of the game is to catch me,” she declared with a happy grin, “Three, two,” she bolted, “ONE!”

She – wasn’t particularly fast all things considered.

She twisted to the side when he caught up, ducking and spinning in place to about-turn, but Harry had pulled _that_ trick often enough to evade Piers and Dudley that he snapped a hand down and slapped her back as she attempted it.

The yelp and laugh she gave as she stopped was surprising.

“Clearly speed isn’t a problem either. Alright. Thus far I’d say your abilities are solidly double S-rank. You kept up with the more strenuous stretches and weren’t even out of breath, you were very tentative with your strength but still able to easily overwhelm me. But your speed is definitely something we’ll need another S-rank to test though,” she concluded with a smile, “If you could catch an A-rank Assassin so easily then it will definitely be on the upper-levels. Now,” she clapped her hands together excitedly, “I think I can conclusively declare that you aren’t a tank or fighter type. Which leaves, Assassin like myself, Mage like Ms Roberts, Healer, or Ranger. You certainly have the personality and gentleness of a Healer,” she mused, “How are you with injuries, specifically when others are hurt?”

“Um. Fine,” Harry admitted, “I mean, it would depend on how they got hurt? But – I already know I’m a Mage type.”

Ms Vass blinked, “Really? My, my, well then. Care to give us a demonstration?” she asked cheerfully taking several steps to the side and gesturing to the far side of the room where... there was a room with reinforced glass and several people inside. They were moving around and a moment later the ceiling opened up and several dummies on chains dropped down.

Harry scratched his ear a little, “Um. What do you want to see?” he asked uncertainly.

“What can you do?” Ms Vass asked, smiling.

“Elemental arrows, binding spells, wards, shields, summons, reinforcement magic, healing,” he began to list, only for the blonde assassin to wave her hands.

“Stop, stop, stop! You can do _all_ of that?” she demanded disbelievingly.

Harry nodded uncertainly.

“We’ve seen him use wind magic, fire magic, light magic, and _lightning_ magic, not including the cute puppy summons,” Mary called over cheerfully.

Ms Vass stared at him, “How – ?” she trailed off, at a loss.

He squirmed in place, “Mana is... mana. It’s just... mana.” Magic was magic, it was _them_ who gave it form and purpose. Harry was just good at giving it more than one form, likely because of his memories manipulating a very different kind of magic. A thicker more fluid kind. He channelled it like a substance instead of a vapour.

Ms Vass swallowed and then gestured, “Well, use a spell of each element on an individual target. Let’s see how many you’ve got.”

Harry had a lot. He figured it would probably be better to demonstrate the binding magic first. Wind binding, water binding, ice binding, earth binding, shadow binding, gravity pinning – he didn’t plan to demonstrate fire, lightning, or light binding, they were dangerous binding spells because they would harm whatever was captured in them. But then he remembered that most of what he would be binding would be monsters, and going to be destroyed anyway, so he demonstrated them anyway. The look of incredible interest on Ms Vass and the chairman’s faces when they saw how the fire and the light bindings scorched, melted, and disintegrated the targets they were wrapped around. Then the binding spells he learned at Hogwarts, including the impermentia, mobicorpulus, the ones he learned as an auror – the antimagic field definitely interested the chairman.

Then he demonstrated the Sagitta Magica variants, explaining that he could summon anything from one arrow, to a hundred and ninety nine. Fire, Ice, Wind, Lightning, Light, Dark. Various minor elemental spells, like the aguamenti for clean, safe drinking water, the blue-bell flame that was warm but didn’t burn, even some of the various little utility spells like the summoning and banishing charms, the vanishing charm, the cleaning charms and the repairing charms. He then went onto the various cutting curses he knew, including the Sectumsempra. Shield spells, protective wards, even the Arcane layered shields which normally couldn’t be seen, he juiced up until they were visible – bright glowing golden mandelas spinning out around them. Then he demonstrated the augmentation magic, giving Ms Vass a number of combat buffs that had her zipping around the room faster than the eye could see.

And then – then he did something that had everyone scrambling around like a kicked over ant hill.

Ms Vass wanted to see how effective his buffs truly were and requested a spar with Paul. Any injuries could be handled by their healer who was watching from the top-box. Harry _really_ didn’t want Paul to be hurt so he was very careful in how he layered his spells, giving him not only augmentations, but also layering shields on him.

Ms Vass had her augments removed.

And the two faced off against each other in basic hand to hand.

Paul won.

A D-ranker beat a triple A-ranked Assassin.

* * *

**NAME:** HARRY J. POTTER **  
DOB:** 30/07/2000 **  
RANK:** SSS **  
CLASS:** MAGE [GRAND MAGISTER MAGI]

He stared down at his Hunter ID unsure of how to feel, Peanut, the smallest of his wolves, was curled up on his lap, a warm comforting weight against him, and laid out in front of him were both Mary and Paul's Ids for comparison.

 **NAME:** MARY K. ROBERTS  
 **ID no:** 000153  
 **DOB:** 23/08/1980  
 **RANK:** D  
 **CLASS:** MAGE

 **NAME:** PAUL M. BELLAMY  
 **ID no:** 000095  
 **DOB:** 19/04/1969  
 **RANK:** D  
 **CLASS:** TANKER

Both Mary and Paul had neat, professional, white and blue IDs with their pictures and ID numbers. Harry... Harry's pass was blood red and didn't have an ID number. There was a weird hologram on his and his rank was slightly embossed on the plastic. He also had that weird title – Grand Magister Magi. Grand Master Mage. When he'd asked why he had that, he was informed that all S-rank with special abilities were afforded an official title for those abilities – such as the S-rank Assassin Siva Yadlapalli having the title of 'Shadow' for her ability to use them as though they were a solid object. Susan Scott, S-rank ranger, was given the title of 'Evil Eye' because she could _literally_ see through walls, physically see mana like an s-ray machine. There were others, but those were the only ones that the chairman was legally allowed to disclose as all others had requested their personal information to be kept on lock. Mary and Paul were very quick to request the same for Harry.

Then they went home. The Association had to hold back the press so they could drive off, and Harry had a bad feeling they were currently running Paul's licence plates and attempting to identify him – the man told him not to worry as both his and Mary's personal details were now also on lock because of their connection to him. The Association took privacy requests very seriously, especially concerning children.

“You seem upset?” Mary prompted, sitting beside him, Liquorice immediately deciding he absolutely had to occupy her lap and slithering in under her arm with loud beeps for attention.

Harry shrugged, and dropped his ID onto the table, drawing his knees up and hugging Peanut a little tighter. “I guess,” he muttered. “It just seems.... too easy. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop,” he admitted slowly.

Mary didn't hug him, even though he knew she wanted to, he was grateful she didn't even as he kind of wished she would. “It'll feel like that for a while,” she confirmed, stroking Liquorice as the cat stretched out happily in her lap, “I thought the same way when the Association introduced the age restriction but wrote in a subclause that allowed all underage hunters to continue if they wanted to. At that point, I knew I'd never be accepted back into regular education. Too hard, too mean, too sharp,” she explained with a distant almost bitter smile. “Twenty years I've been a hunter, since the beginning. If it weren't for my grandmother, I might have ended up like Paul. My parents couldn't handle a hunter in the house, they were scared of me, my nightmares, my Otherness. Grandma didn't give a single shit. I guess after you join the Army in World War Two there isn't an awful lot that's going to bother you. This was her house. She left it to me in her Will. My parents tried to fight tooth and nail to get it off me but I was an established hunter, I'd been living in the house for a decade, and I had the money to hire a good solicitor. They never stood a chance really. I still sometimes wonder when the other shoe is gunna drop. I look at Paul and how his life was completely _ruined_ and I worry that some day, that's going to be me,” she admitted with a slightly shaking voice.

“But – he's okay, isn't he?” Harry asked, frowning. Sure he was a grumpy asshole, but, he was a good guy.

She gave him a painful smile, “Paul is a barely functioning alcoholic with so much Post Traumatic Stress that he flashed back and nearly snapped a man's neck in a bar-fight right after the Association managed to work in the anti-discrimination laws that would have meant he could go back to his former career as a Social Worker. He has a criminal record now, they'll never let him work with vulnerable people again. It's only because you're an S-rank and you're living with _me_ that the Association aren't trying to remove him from the situation whole-sale.”

It felt like a gut punch, and Peanut whined, licking at his face.

He'd had no idea things were that bad for him. Admittedly he had only _known_ Paul Bellamy for – what, two weeks now?

Two weeks.

And his life had been completely turned upside down by a _single_ adult that actually cared about him. A single person who put him into contact with Mary, who supported him in his efforts to get money, who found him a safer and quicker way to escape the Dursleys, who stuck with him through it all, who was, even now, playing decoy for them both by letting the Press target him instead of Harry or Mary.

“Is there anything we can do?” he asked, shoving aside his own anxieties. What would come, would come, and he would meet it when it did. Hagrid was wiser than he would ever know and Harry would never forget his words. Whatever happened, it would happen when it did. Right now, he wanted to help Paul like the man had done for him.

Mary chuckled a little sadly, “Oh sweetheart. It's been twenty years. I don't think he wants help at this point.”

He wrinkled his nose, “Well, he's going to get it. Does he _want_ to go back to Social Working?”

“More than anything,” she admitted softly, leaning back on the sofa. “Not that he'd admit it after so long. He's given up.”

Harry scowled miserably, “Isn't there a Child Protection division in the Monitoring division? He's a former Social Worker, surely he would have been an ideal recruit?” he asked pointedly.

She shook her head, “No, there's no such thing right now. You're the exception because of your S-rank, but all other cases are passed onto the city to deal with.”

His face fell in displeasure, “The over-worked, understaffed, under-budgeted city Social Workers? The ones that have maybe seventy kids per worker and a shoe-string budget that can barely fund a street party never mind the thousands of children that actually need help. _That_?” he asked sarcastically with disgust.

Mary chuckled, “You sound just like Paul. Yes. That one.”

Oh hell no. Maybe he should start a petition or something? Write to their local MP and see what could be brought up? Awakened children in bad family situations were more common than people anticipated. There had been a lot of studies about the phenomenon and more than a few studies identified that Awakenings occurred primarily in people who had particular tendencies towards aggression and pro-activeness. A willingness and interest in fighting – Harry did not possess an interest in fighting, but he was willing to do so when needed, he would be pro-active about it when needed. The same could be said for many Awakened, others also had that aggression problem like Dudley and the now retired S-rank Assassin Tom Riddle who had been famous for lashing out at his colleagues and underlings just as much as the monsters he fought.

Or would he maybe have more luck writing the chairman directly?

He thought it was a good idea, but he didn't want to exert any pressure on the man just because Harry was an S-rank and he was not. The man's very obvious discomfort with him, Moro, and any perceived displeasure Harry had made him incredibly uncomfortable. Like he expected Harry to just snap and kill everyone that looked at him cross-eyed and thus he was willing to do anything he said just to prevent bloodshed. It was depressing. When had he ever given anyone the impression that he was a violent person?

Peanut sneezed and stuck his nose into Harry's neck, drawing his thoughts away from dark paths as he groaned and wiped his neck even though there was no snot, just the feeling of mana on his skin.

“Well either way,” Mary announced, changing the subject, “We'll need to take you shopping tomorrow. You left your relatives with barely anything. I can't send you to school next week with nothing, what would they think of me?” she laughed.

Harry felt his stomach twist in a strange kind of dread and excitement. Shopping? For _him?_

_School next week?_

He was going to the famous High-ranker secondary school Queen Elizabeth Academy next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Solo Leveling canon, the event I've called the 'Mana Advent' where the gates first started appearing, happened ten years ago. This is later explained in the light novels, but the explanation doesn't quite make sense imo, or within the context of the fic, so I've played with that a bit. 
> 
> The gates first started appearing twenty years ago at this point in time in Stand. And no, I will not tell you where we currently are in the Solo Leveling timeline >83 you'll have to wait and find out.


	10. Chapter 10

His picture hasn't circulated very much because there are exceptionally few pictures _of_ him. All the ones taken at the Association were confiscated, the Dursleys have none, and unless a reporter was willing to steal Claire's phone they had no chance. So shopping with Mary the next day was easy and hassle free. She insisted on dropping by a tailor just to get his sizes properly sorted – and then sent off to Queen Elizabeth's, apparently all the uniforms were tailor made because they had so few students. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about the treatment. He could already tell it was going to take some getting used to, going to a private school.

She encouraged him to call Archie and Claire so they could meet up, and the end of their shopping trip resulted in ice cream at the park with all three teenagers lounging on the grass discussing what happened now while Mary sat on the bench beside them with their shopping bags cheerfully arguing with Paul on the phone.

Then they went home and Mary cooked dinner before they relaxed for the rest of the evening and went to bed.

Harry was honestly at a loose end. Was this how normal people spent their days and nights? Just.... this _was_ normal right?

The next day was.... kind of boring. He insisted on helping Mary with the very few house-hold chores she had, doing the washing up and cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen while she dusted and vacuumed. After that he was kind of left to mill around, eventually she got him to join her in watching a couple of action films from when she was younger. They called Paul to invite him, ordered pizza, and settled in to watch more films.

Paul was unconscious on the couch the next day, empty vodka bottle next to his half-full mug of cold tea, and there were Association men at the door with school supplies and uniforms for him.

They would be around tomorrow to pick him up and take him to Queen Elizabeth's.

* * *

Mary helped him pack, he hadn't really _unpacked_ from the Dursleys, but now he had new things that were boxed up to be taken to his new home. His new school. It was all written in the information pack they'd given him along with his text books. Queen Elizabeth's would be his home until he graduated as an eighteen year old. Because he had no legal guardians he would be placed with the long-term boarders, and would live at the school year round.

Both Mary and Paul were there to see him off and – it took.... probably more balls than he wanted to admit but.... He couldn't leave without trying to – what they'd done for him, it was too much, it was more than _anyone_ had ever done for him before. He didn't have the money to help them, or the influence, he could only thank them and it wasn't enough, it would never be enough, but – he could at least hug them.

Mary's hug was warm and eager, she didn't hesitate even a little bit to wrap both of her arms around him and squeeze, swaying him gently from side to side, murmuring quiet reassurances into his hair. He had her phone number, he could call her whenever. She couldn't pick up in a Dungeon but as soon as she was out she would call back, super duper pinkie promise. Paul didn't seem to know what to do with him when he bit the bullet and crashed into him for a hug. Then his arms came down and his grip was tight enough that even at S-rank Harry's ribs protested a little.

“Stay safe. Work hard. Don't do anything stupid or I'll find _some_ way of grounding your ass,” the tanker promised gruffly before giving him a small pointed shove towards the car, looking skywards in grouchy embarrassment.

The Association members escorted him all very politely pretended not to see his obvious hesitation, or wobbling lips, as he got into the car. He had to breathe carefully for a bit as they pulled away from the bungalow, Mary waving from her garden with Liquorice in one arm, Paul behind her looking unhappy and a little lost. No one said anything, even though there were a few flinches, when Peanut misted into life in Harry's lap whining and nosing into his face. He could feel the other summons stirring in his chest but none of them manifested, only flared comfortingly, reminding him that he wasn't alone, not really.

Some S-rank, he thought bitterly, watching as they left the city and joined up with the motorway heading north.

Everyone knew that the more highly ranked a person was, the bigger the asshole they were, the more arrogant or aggressive – the only exceptions to that general rule of thumb tended to be the healers. He already knew he wasn't the typical kind of S-ranker, the reactions of everyone around him only continued to hammer that home time and time again whenever they expected him to lose his shit and attack someone because they hadn't bent over backwards for him.

“I know it's hard,” one of the Association members blurted out suddenly, making Harry turn to him and the two guys in the front seat glance his way, he went red and it was hard to tell with the sunglasses but he seemed to look away in embarrassment, “but you'll be okay. Queen Elizabeth's is pretty nice. You'll be allowed to visit them, and if they're on your list of acceptable contacts then they can drop in on weekends,” he explained a little uncertainly at first but then confidently.

“You attended?” Harry asked quietly, hugging Peanut a little more tightly to himself.

The guy nodded with a grin, and then pulled his sunglasses off – Harry almost fucking choked as fucking _Marcus bloody Flint_ smiled at him. “Yeah. Graduated three years ago myself.”

This was so fucking surreal. Marcus Flint. His teeth were straight, his hair was cut short and stylish, he was tall and muscular and wearing a tailored suit and looked _nothing_ like the trollish Slytherin bully the Boy Who Lived had known. Was this what a physical education regime and decent oral hygiene did to purebloods? Thankfully he didn't notice Harry's momentary mental hiccup as he explained how the school operated. Because there were so few students, everyone had their own bedroom in the dormitories, the ground floor was the showers and the rec room where they had a bunch of sofas, a TV, a few game consoles, and a reading knook with a bunch of chairs and tables. Laundry was done at the end of the week and he would receive three mesh bags to put his dirty clothes into – they had to be separated out into darks, lights, and colours, labelled, and in the right bags because they were all going to be chucked into the machines in the bags to prevent things from being lost. They would be expected to iron their own clothes once they were returned – in a normal school it wouldn't be expected but since everyone was B-rank or higher, there was no way the heat of any iron would be enough to give them burns.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were at seven thirty, twelve noon, and five, and were all held in the dining room which also doubled as the auditorium. It was just a big ball-room where there would be all sorts of school functions in throughout the year. The Academy itself was a repurposed manor afterall, the original building even had secret passageways though the ones that had been found were all monitored, there was no need to close them off for health and safety concerns, but many of them led into the basement which was off limits.

It – didn't sound so bad. His lessons would be normal, but PE would be replaced with training to be a hunter because there was no point in doing it for teenagers who had already reached a level of physical fitness that was beyond humanity. Doing burpees for three days straight might make a healer a bit winded but fighters and tanks could do that for _months_ and still not feel the burn. The grounds were pretty extensive to give them the space to do that properly, but unfortunately that meant the closest village/town was a long way away, and there wasn't much to do on the weekends.

This Flint was a lot more down to earth and likeable than the Slytherin one, enough so that Harry actually forgot who he was talking to and began to warm up to the man, asking questions about what his time at Queen Elizabeth's had been like. They chattered for a long time, well over two hours before they stopped at a service station to use the toilets and stretch their legs, the two guys up the front trading places.

“Have to admit,” the driver grunted as he sank his teeth into the cheese burger they picked up, “You surprised me,” he stated to Harry. “You're just like my son. A normal teenager. Being – the rank you are, I don't know, I expected something different.”

Harry grimaced, ducking his head down, “Yeah. Everyone seems to expect me to be some kind of asshole,” he admitted unhappily.

Marcus nudged a few of his fries over to him, “Yeah. Unfortunate side-effect of the others being arrogant glory-hounds for the most part,” he said apologetically. “They know they're stronger than everyone and use it to scare people into doing what they want. I know the Chairman was practically bricking it when he heard about an S-rank teenager. He honestly didn't know what to make of an actual reasonable person.”

“Are the higher ranked people really that bad?” he asked nervously, picking at his food unhappily. Was he going to have to deal with the 'Heir of Slytherin' treatment again? Or would it be the 'Fourth Champion', or 'Chosen One' nonsense?

The guy who'd ridden shotgun shrugged, sunglasses slipping off the top of his head only to be impatiently shoved back up, “Not always. The kids up at Queen Elizabeth's are pretty calm. They've been surrounded by people of equal or similar power and the teachers there are pretty strict when it comes to morality and social awareness. You've met Marcus,” he said gesturing to Flint who grinned and waved a little next to him, “You wouldn't believe he was a Triple B Tanker with how friendly he is. Most adult Awakeners though, yeah, most of them are going to be assholes to people weaker than them.”

“Or anyone they think they can get away with doing it to,” Harry added with a scowl, “I know the type.”

Looks were exchanged between the two older Association members, “Do you know how your investigation is going?” the driver asked _not quite_ gently, but at least softly.

He sipped his drink, “Uncle Vernon's going down for physical abuse and neglect.” It was pretty much the totality of the man's sins towards him in all honesty. He was free and easy with shouting and hitting Harry, but other than that, he was content to pretend that his nephew didn't exist. They could pass one another in the hallway and as long as Harry didn't get in the man's way, Vernon would leave him be. “Aunt Petunia is getting the full whack. Physical, mental, and financial abuse, neglect, endangerment, labour – the lawyer person said there might even be a case for modern slavery in there given how she hid my papers. Both of them are getting dragged for stealing my inheritance and um... 'misappropriation' of child support money.” And hadn't that been another kick in the teeth to find out. Because he wasn't Petunia's child, the government were giving her Child Support money as well as his parents' estate. She was getting paid twice over to take care of him, and kept him in a cupboard for thirteen years instead.

He flinched as his drink froze over in his hand.

“...cool,” Flint said as they all stared at it.

* * *

Professor McGonagall was waiting for them at the steps of Queen Elizabeth's and Harry had the sudden sinking horrible feeling that Dumbledore was about to come back into his life.

Flint nudged him, “I know she looks scary, but that's Ms McGonagall the headmistress, she's actually really nice, promise.”

The relief he felt was both surprising and not, but sweet either way as he slowly climbed out of the car, following the three Association members who had brought him to her doorstep. She looked so strange out of her tartan robes, but still somehow the same in her long heather coloured skirt, prim white long-sleeved blouse, and tartan neckcloth pinned beneath her throat with one of those fancy blue and white relief broaches of a lady's head.

“Mister Flint, welcome back, you've grown taller if that's at all possible!” she greeted, smiling as she saw her old student. God this was weird. Professor McGonagall had _hated_ Flint back in Hogwarts and yet here she was, happily taking his hands and bussing his cheek like a favoured grandson.

“I think the only direction I've got left to go is sideways, Ms,” the not-Slytherin joked as he stepped back.

“Let's hope that won't be for a few years yet,” she retorted playfully before turning to smile at him.

“Ms McGonagall,” the driver greeted holding out a phone to her, “If you could please sign, and we'll leave Mister Potter in your care.”

She ignored him for a moment, “Are you comfortable with that, Mister Potter?” she asked shrewdly with a kind smile, “Or would you like these fine gentlemen to stay with you until you settle in?”

He shook his head, “I'm okay. I don't – it was a long drive, I'm sure they're tired...” he trailed off in embarrassment, recalling that all of them were A and B-ranked hunters and it would take several _days_ before they would feel any degree of fatigue. Despite living with Dudley who could stay up for over a week just gaming and still be fresh as a daisy, his mind still couldn't wrap around the concept of such inhuman stamina. Not really.

Flint chuckled and ruffled his hair, “We're fine. Though, I don't think any of us would say no to a bathroom break and a cup of coffee before we hit the road again, right?” he asked, glancing over at his colleagues with only a _slightly_ pointed glance. Harry could feel his face burning in mortification. He didn't need his hand held he just didn't want to cause a fuss for them, he was nervous but he didn't – he could feel the wolves flickering in amusement, laughing at him and he groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

McGonagall laughed, “Well I can see our sensitivity classes won't be needed in your case, Mister Potter,” she praised before smiling at the Association members, “Of course you are free to make use of our guest facilities. If you'd leave your vehicle unlocked, I'll have a member of house-keeping come and collect Mister Potter's belongings and take them to his room while we go on tour.”

His mind immediately leapt to Dobby and Winky before he firmly shoved the thought away. This wasn't the Wizarding World, there wouldn't be _house-elves_ here! And – who knew if they would even exist since they weren't human?

“Oh!” Flint exclaimed suddenly, startling him from his thoughts, “Ms! Potter's summons. Are they allowed to roam?”

She blinked at him and then turned to Harry, “Summons roaming? I understand that S-rank affords a considerable amount of mana, but is it healthy to expend it in such a manner?” she asked in concern.

Harry just shrugged uncomfortably, “I don't – really notice it.... And I only have the five right now,” he quickly assured her.

“Right now?” she echoed, eyebrows towards her hairline. There was a long pause before she forced a smile onto her face, he likely wouldn't have noticed if he weren't so familiar with the Professor, but he could see a thousand and one questions in her eyes and a great deal of worry as she nodded. “As long as they behave themselves, I can't see a reason why they shouldn't be allowed in certain areAS?!” she squawked as Moro and the pack immediately manifested with happy barks.

Harry flushed, “I'm – sorry. They've been a bit cooped up and – guys!” he hissed, shooting them a look so they would stop rolling around like _actual_ animals. Immediately they all crowded around him looking dignified and strong, though he wasn't sure if they had a hope in hell of maintaining that impression whenever someone remembered how they wallowed on their backs with their legs splayed towards the sky and dragged their faces across the grass.

Flint was laughing, the two Association members had gone very tense but one of them had gone so far as to facepalm while the other was now trying not to laugh, and Ms McGonagall had gotten over her shock enough to look _very_ interested.

“Fascinating,” she murmured, “I'm a summoner myself, Mister Potter and I must say, these are some very fine specimens. I've never seen the like before,” she declared enthusiastically.

He smiled, “This is Moro, she's the strongest. Mary said she should be about A-ranked. These two are Romy and Remy, I think they're B-ranked,” he explained, the two next smallest wolves with golden legs, Remy with a golden snout and Romy with golden ears. “This is Socks. He's a D-rank.” And named for the fact that when Harry had been trying to think of a wolf like name for the D-ranked animal, it had come to him whining in upset, nose stuck in his sock, and not wanting to tear it to escape. There had been no other name for it after that. “And this is Peanut,” he concluded, picking up the smallest of them. So named because he was the size of a peanut compared to Moro. “He's E-ranked. They were all made out of D-ranked monsters but depending on how much mana I put into them depended on how they came out.”

“Made out of monsters you say?” McGonagall echoed thoughtfully, her eyes bright. “Well. We shall have to discuss this later. Come inside now. We'll give you a quick tour before settling in for dinner. You gentlemen are of course welcome to join us.”

Queen Elizabeth's was not a castle, wasn't filled with portraits or suits of armour, it looked like a very posh manor that someone had turned into a school. There was a little reception area that wouldn't have looked out of place in a hotel, flower decorations and a display case of student and staff awards. There was a staircase that lead upwards on the right of it, all the walls were reddish warm wooden panelling, the ceilings were high with black wooden tudor style beams, white paint and hanging lights in glass coverings that looked like flowers. He could see two offices, one of which was obviously Mc McGonagall's judging by the tartan wall decorations and the potted heather on the desk. The other room looked to be a generic office filing room with a pair of desks. Down the hallway was the very large dining room that the headmistress took them into with a smile, gesturing to the two doors on the right hand side before they went in as the bathrooms.

The dining room was large and nice, but again, nothing that wouldn't have been out of place at a hotel. Various individual tables for four people were covered in neat white table-cloths and placemats. Dishes of condiments were set in the centre of the table, and he could see a long hotplate to the otherside of the room with two doors behind it that one definitely smelt like it went to the kitchen and the other probably into the dish room. Ms McGonagall told him what the meal times were, confiding in him that they had certain meals on certain days – Wednesday was omelette day, Thursday was curry, Friday would see fish and chips, and Sunday was always the big roast day. Every other day of the week was whatever the chef felt like surprising them with, though they would have themed weeks every now and again where they would make food from various corners of the world for the children to try.

“Sushi is amazing,” Flint whispered, “But avoid the natto. It's fermented and looks like mouldy baked beans.”

Gross.

The tour took them through the downstairs where Harry was shown the nurses' office, the visitor rooms where his friends and family could spend time with him, the large conference room where there would be official Association business like press-releases in regards to the school held, also job interviews or other important things like parent-teacher conferences as well. He was shown to the library which had two floors and occupied an entire wing by itself. All handsome wood and warm colours, it had high windows and heavy velvet drapes and a long line of desks each with their own shelves and dividers. He could see a few students working in them, none of whom seemed interested in looking up – he could see several of them with headphones in, bobbing their heads to music as they worked. Madam Pince smiled and waved at Ms McGonagall from the librarian's counter.

Upstairs were the classrooms, English, Maths, Science, History, Geography, Languages, ICT, Art, and of course, Hunting. There were two rooms for each subject because of the small number of students, very few students Awakened before their teens so one of the classes covered GCSE subjects, and the other covered A-levels. Students would receive individual guidance from their teachers because the class size very rarely exceeded ten individuals which was just unheard of to Harry who remembered Stonewall teachers struggling to manage classes of thirty-five or more students on occasion. Hunting was the only subject where the students were separated not by age but by when they came into the school.

Outside the main building, the headmistress showed him the huge sports field where most of their training would occur, explaining that they didn't have an indoor facility as there was little point. Being highly ranked meant that there was little to no chance of their catching colds or flu by exercising out in the rain, thus they were not given the budget to build such a place. They did have a supply cupboard for equipment and balls if he and any friends of his wanted to play any team sports and the like, though she did request that they be careful not to damage anything. Then she showed him to the lake where they would be taught how to swim and dive, the forest where they would be given wilderness survival in the chance that they may end up going through a red-gate. And then she took him to the dormitories, it was two buildings, connected only via a sheltered walk-way in a small outdoor garden area. She explained that the smaller building was for the on-site live in staff members, and was considered off limits to students outside of emergency situations.

The student dormitories were exactly like Flint promised, a very nice ground floor, and two floors above that full of private rooms, each floor had two large shower rooms for the students, one for boys and one for girls even though Ms McGonagall explained that they'd recently had some renovations so that each bedroom at least had its own sink now.

His room, when they reached it, was absolutely the same as every other door they passed. A little eyehole, a wooden plaque above it with his name, and a brass door number. 2-8. Second floor, room eight. It took him a second to parse because surely it should have been three-eight, since they were on the third floor? But then he remembered that most of the old fashioned places in England used _ground floor_ -first floor-second floor-etc. A lot of the modern builds had fallen along American lines and just substituted ground floor for first floor.

Inside, his room was a bit more spacious than expected, it had about an extra metre and a half compared to his room at the Dursleys. A bare single bed with only a mattress was against the wall to the right, a dark wooden bedside table with a small knook and a cupboard door, a window with a deep-set shelf that he could sit in if he wished, a nice low, soft fabric chair like the kind that used to sit outside the headmaster's office at Stonewall, a wide desk against the other wall, a deep shelving unit above it affixed to the wall, a wardrobe at the foot of his bed, and next to that was the sink, a mirror above it with a little draw-string halogen light above it, and a cupboard set beneath the sink.

His belongings were stacked up neatly on the bed in their boxes, unmolested, everything was there, including the backpack he'd left in the car now sat on the chair.

So. This was his new home....

“Ah, Ms Granger, perfect timing,” Ms McGonagall greeted from somewhere behind him. Harry stiffened, not wanting to turn around.

“Yes, Headmistress?”

It hurt. It _hurt_.

That voice, it – he felt his throat beginning to clog tightly. That was _definitely_ her.

“We have a new student, this is Mister Harry Potter. He's coming to us from a rather sensitive home-situation. Would you do me the favour of helping him settle in?” the headmistress explained, oblivious to Harry's distress as he desperately tried to swallow down the emotions of the Boy Who Lived.

“Of course. I'm sure Neville will be a huge help as well,” she added in helpfully, her voice so _young_ and _earnest_.

“That would be lovely. Mister Potter?” McGonagall called, forcing him to take a breath and shore himself up before turning around. “This is our headgirl, Miss Hermione Granger. If you have any troubles, feel free to approach her.” Fifteen, frizzy haired, slightly buck-toothed, wearing _braces_ , smiling kindly at him with clear hazel brown eyes in her immaculate school uniform, a large heavy book under her arm.

“Hi,” he greeted quietly, barely able to get the words out. Thankfully she seemed to take it as his being shy than anything else and her bright expression softened into something kinder.

“Nice to meet you, you can call me Hermione,” she offered sweetly.

“Hermione like in.... Shakespeare, Hermione?” he asked.

Her smile turned blinding, “Yep! I'm surprised, not a lot of people realise. They just think my name's weird.”

He shrugged, mouth wobbling a little into a smile, “Must have learned it in a past life or something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologise for not having this out sooner but I'm not. I'm actually procrastinating on tidying my room to write this. And before that, well, I might not do it often but its still faster to write two-three pages of mindless smut than five pages of plot so XDDDD


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione was both familiar and alien, but just having her there with him soothed an ache he had only just become aware of now that it was gone. She was more confident at this age than she had been back at Hogwarts, chattering away easily as she lead him down to dinner, Ms McGonagall taking her leave to speak with the Association escort in privacy. Likely to complain that they'd brought her damaged goods or something.

But still, he didn't care. He trailed after his former best friend, smiling slightly feeling a soft warmth in his chest as her voice washed over him, a balm to his frazzled nerves as she gushed about their classes and their homework and their teaches, oh, and the _library_. You'll love the library.

“So, what are you? A healer?” she asked eagerly, holding the door from the garden path that connected the dormitories and the main building open for him.

That was the second time someone had mistaken him for a healer.

“Um, a Mage, actually,” he admitted with a small flush, uncomfortable all of a sudden with the reminder that he was an Outlier, different, a _freak_.

She beamed, “Really? That's cool. I wish I could use magic,” she admitted, smoothing her hands down her skirt as she lead him down the corridor to the dining room. “We don't have many mages at Elizabeth's, only a small handful. I'm a Ranger myself. Awakened a year and a half ago.”

He really didn't want to admit he was S-ranked. “So you've been here the whole time?” he asked instead of reciprocating. Thankfully she didn't notice. _Hogwarts_ Hermione definitely would have, but he was beginning to think that it was a little unfair to compare the soft confident girl next to him with the sharp survivalist he had forced her to become as the Boy Who Lived. She carried herself differently, like she wasn't constantly looking over her shoulder for a curse winging its way towards her, like she wasn't checking to make sure neither he nor Ron were getting into trouble, like she didn't have three hardback leatherbound tomes of two hundred pages in her bag while she was travelling up a mile's worth of steep castle staircases several times a day.

She shook her head, “No, my parents objected a lot at first. They'd worked hard to find me a good private school, y'know? They weren't religious, didn't make ridiculous money, and I'd had problems with bullying in the past, so when they finally found a place that worked out well for me, they absolutely didn't want to pull me out,” she explained as she swapped the arm holding her book. “Course, they changed their tune fairly quickly when a Guild Recruiter broke into school and chased me into a bathroom.”

He stopped, “They chased you into a _bathroom?_ You were fourteen!”

She leaned back on her heels, smiling sadly, “I was also a confirmed A-ranker. One of my former friends sold the story to the newspaper and – well. A-rankers are highly sought after. I had to hide in there for over an hour until the faculty got several Association members to come and threaten him into leaving.” She pouted unhappily as she adjusted her textbook, “I missed Latin because of him.”

Harry just shook his head, “I think it's a little worse than missing Latin, Hermione,” he scolded disbelievingly. God, this was the troll situation from first year all over again, wasn't it? “It's thinking he has the authority to break into a school and harass a fourteen year old girl to the point where she hides in a bathroom for over an hour.”

“Well, I'm definitely not joining their Guild when I graduate, no way. They ruined whatever chance they had with me on that stunt,” she quickly tried to reassure him.

It felt a little like his ears weren't working right to hear those words come out of her mouth in the context that they were meant. Hermione Granger, joining a monster hunting guild, when she could go into politics, or law, or human rights – it just.... sounded wrong. Not right. Like being sat on the bus and knowing the people behind you were speaking English but hearing something that sounded like Chinese as your ears just... missed bits.

He could only shake his head in mute confusion.

“What about you? You don't sound like you went to a private school,” she asked curiously. Her words might have seemed judgemental, but there was no such thing in her tone, so he ignored the faint sting of defensiveness that he felt over being perceived lacking.

“I – hid the fact I Awakened for a while,” he admitted. “My family – I didn't want them knowing. It took some really nice hunters I knew to talk me around.”

She paused and tentatively held an arm open towards him, “That sounds awful and I'm really sorry it happened. Would you like a hug?” she asked a little uncertainly, “As a friend thing.”

He swallowed and had to take a short breath before he stepped in close, “How can I say no to a friend thing?” he asked, trying to jokingly, but his voice wobbling a little too much as he felt her arm come around his shoulders, rubbing his back. Some things never changed. She was still taller than him. She was fairly quick to pull away, patting his shoulder awkwardly as if to try and make the hug a little more 'bromance' instead of pity. He cracked a small smile at her to show it was appreciated before glancing to the incredibly noisy dining room they were approaching. “How many people are there here?” he asked. He really hoped word hadn't gotten out about him being S-rank yet, he didn't want to walk in there and have everyone expect him to flip his fucking shit.

“Not that many,” Hermione promised, relieved now that the discussion had moved away from personal things, “We've got.... anywhere between thirty and sixty students?” she mused with a finger to her chin, “An awful lot of high rankers tend to Awaken later in life, so there's very few actual teenagers with Awakenings. Most of the time its the low rankers who pop early according to the studies. There are a lot of theories as to why but I tend to think it's a case of giving them the time to make up for the deficit in power with skill,” she theorised as she opened the door, launching into a story about how even though she was a ranger she didn't automatically know how to aim for shit – that had to be trained.

Harry followed after her, glancing around himself at the other students, many of whom had stopped chattering and were now craning their heads to look at him in confusion and curiosity. A few even looked excited, so he could only anticipate that they'd managed to find out about the new S-rank teenager and were drawing (correct) assumptions.

It was still a sea of familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Draco Malfoy, blond hair artfully tousled, uniform stylishly rumpled and improperly worn, sat with a strangely lucid and curious Luna Lovegood who still maintained her quirky fashion tastes by wearing a felted witch's hat with a super curly tip with a plastic spider tangling from it and mismatched knee-high stripey socks of purple and black on one leg and orange and green on the other. Mandy Brocklehurst and Ernie MacMillain sat with them, watching him trail after Hermione with curious eyes. On the far side of the room he could see Ginny's flaming red hair (cropped startling short with shaved sides and an awful lot of black make-up) sat with Zacharius Smith, Seamus Finnigan, and Susan Bones at her table specifically, but there were a lot of familiar faces around her, several from the DA, more than a few who had been assholes to him at Hogwarts as well.

Cho Chang sat with Ron, Hannah Abbott, and a few other people as well, including Katie Bell who he saw lurking next to the window. Then there was Neville, taller and broader than Harry could have ever begun to picture, sat with _Crabbe and Goyle_ or all people, and, fuck, that was Millicent Bullstrode, utterly unrecognisable with her long viking-style braided hair heavily highlighted and streaked with blonde. He could see the Ravenclaw beaters with them too, Alicia Spinnet, Collin Creevey, and Justin Finch-Fletchley too. All of whom were huge, teenage puppy-fat in the process of shedding in favour of hard muscle.

Hermione handed him a plate as she lead him to the hot plate, “A lot of us like to sit in our Class groups,” she explained, “To discuss training techniques and the like. Neville over there,” she gestured to the golden haired former Gryffindor who looked so much more confident and happy in this life, Harry wondered if it was because his parents were alive... Or if they even were, because _his_ weren't, and some things concerningly seemed to be the same no matter what. “ – is a long term border like you. He's a tanker, but he's really friendly so if you've got any questions about living here long term, he's definitely the guy to talk to. But if you're more interested in sticking with other mages, there's Luna Lovegood, she's also a long term border. She's just.... a bit odd, sometimes.” Some things would never change.

He nodded as they began to collect their food, Harry was a little overwhelmed but eventually fell back on old Boy Who Lived habits and aimed for those foods he typically took when returning to Hogwarts, things that wouldn't upset his stomach after living with the Dursleys for prolonged periods of time. Hermione cheerfully talking about how she _personally_ thought it was a bit too 'American Highschool Cliche' to sit with people of your own class all the time, like it was some kind of exclusive club or caste system. She was one of only seven rangers in the school after all, they couldn't even occupy two full tables, she thought it awfully close minded not to network with her future colleagues in the hunting industry.

Sitting down, she pointed out the table of Fighters – specifically Ginny, as being particularly aggressive and confrontational. Malfoy at the mage's table as having a father in politics he absolutely _hated_ , so try to avoid family talk with him, same with Luna and Neville, like he himself, long term borders often did not have happy home lives. Harry almost _choked_ when she pointed out Ron at the _healer's_ table, and warned him to not get involved if an argument broke out between him and Ginny – his little sister tended to bully him but would get viciously possessive/territorial of him as well (Hermione's expression was disdainful and disgusted when she explained that). He could see Dennis Creevey at what Hermione identified as the ranger's tables, and behind it was the Assassin's tables where _Lavender Brown_ was sitting with Daphne Greengrass, Dean Thomas, and Blaise Zabini. He was so confused.

A hand slammed onto the table, “SO!” a female voice declared loudly, making Hermione jump and Harry tighten his grip on his knife before he realised it was _Ginny_ who was currently looming over their table with a grin that held too many teeth and a glint in her eyes that he really didn't like. “You're the new S-ranker!”

Murmurs went up amongst the other students, and Hermione spluttered beside him.

“Ginny, we were talking, you can't just – ” the brunette began to object.

“Did I ask you? Shut up!” the red headed girl snapped, shooting her a glare before turning back to Harry, dismissing the ranger who scowled.

Harry frowned at her unhappily. He had never known Ginny Weasley to be like this. Even at her _worst_ she had been more snarky and snippy than outright aggressive and rude to people – she'd only ever cursed Slytherins who she caught doing horrible things. She wasn't the type of person to be rude to someone like Hermione. Or. She hadn't been when the Boy Who Lived knew her.

“Well? Are you S-rank or not, four eyes?” she demanded, a clear challenge in her tone.

He narrowed his eyes as he set his knife and fork down, “Does it matter?” he asked, looking up into the brown eyes that in another life he thought he loved at one point, brown eyes that now sat in the face of a stranger, and not one he particularly wanted to get to know in all honesty. Had she become so volatile because she was the only girl in her family, a family that without magic probably didn't have the time or resources it once did? Public school could be vicious, having that many siblings and living in such poverty would make her a target of some pretty vicious and cruel people, people like Dudley and the Dursleys, people that existed everywhere. Or was it something else? At Stonewall there had been plenty of angry and aggressive teenagers who became like that for no other reason than they seemingly _could_ and no one would stop them, or because it was funny, or, he honestly didn't know. Most of them came from pretty good middle class families, they had been doing well in school, and then suddenly it was like they'd had their brains transplanted. They started hanging around other like-minded aggressive people, started doing dangerous things, acting out, being loud, rude, violent. He wondered if it was an internet thing.... he'd had very little access to it outside of school so had never gone into the places that Archie and Claire complained about, 4Chan or Reddit, tumblr, twitter, or the Youtube Comment Section.

Ginny's smile was predatory, and triumphant, as if she'd drawn a conclusion that she liked the sound of. “Course it matters. I need to know if its worth it making you my bitch or not. You're pretty cute for such a tiny little thing,” she declared, getting into his face with a smirk and a very obvious look up and down.

“Ginny...” he heard Ron groan from his table, accompanied by a whistle and a couple of laughs from another, an unknown male voice calling ' _get it, Weasley!_ '. It was so unexpected and brazen that he couldn't help but flush and her eyes lit up gleefully when he looked away.

“No thank you,” he muttered.

“Aww, don't be like that. I'll treat you real good, Sweetheart,” she teased, reaching out to touch his face.

Hermione stood up so suddenly her chair fell over, “Ginny!” she snapped, “Go back to your table and stop – sexually _harassing_ the new student!” she barked.

The red headed girl snapped upright and glared at her from over the table, “You gunna fucking _make me_ , huh, Teacher's Bitch?” she snarled, her expression twisting into one of fury.

Mana began to crackle through the air, Hermione's eyes shining bright lavender as her brown curls began to seethe around her head as if underwater. “I may just,” she warned darkly.

Definitely A-rank. Double A-ranked, he would wager. She didn't put out as much mana as Ms Vass, but the Hermione he'd known hadn't needed to have a lot of magic to be dangerous, she made up the difference with _skill_ and _versatility_. He glanced around to the others in the room, his eyes finding Ron's in the crowd. He looked unsurprised, and tired, but not worried even as Ginny's blood red aura rose to meet the head girls' – and came up very short at something closer to what Harry recalled Tunde's being. B-rank then.

It clicked then.

“Oh! Little dog symdrome!” he blurted as he realised what the fighter's problem was. She was only a B-rank, and Hermione was an A-rank. Ginny was trying to make herself seem bigger and better by picking a fight with someone she knew wouldn't really fight back, who would back down instead. As head girl, and as an A-ranker, if it _did_ come to a fight, _Hermione_ would be the one who would get in trouble for snapping back, even if Ginny was the instigator. Because that was how schools handled bullying.

It was like a record scratch in the room.

Ginny wheeled around to him furiously, her face flushing horribly, “ _What?!_ ”

Oh fuck, he'd said that out loud. He clamped a hand over his mouth as laughter erupted from the closest tables.

Hermione however barked as condescending a laugh as she physically could, “Oh gosh, yes. Absolutely. One of those _irritating_ yappy little purse rats!” she laughed, watching Ginny unpleasantly as the red headed girl flushed further and balled her fists angrily. The menacing aura and mana the head girl had been putting out shattered and burned away like morning fog.

Ginny whirled around, “FUCK YOU BITCH!”

The binding spell was out before the girl even had the chance to move. But because it was _Ginny_ it was – perhaps a little embarrassingly for her – only a Petrificus Totalus. Both of her arms and legs snapped together as she dropped, only able to move her eyes as her face froze in a rictus of fury.

Yells and exclamations went up from the spectating students.

Which was, of course, when Ms McGonagall burst into the room with Flint and the rest of his Association escort, just in time to see Ginny hit the ground with a thud.

Great. Just what he wanted on his first day. To make an enemy of his ex-girlfriend, get into trouble with not only his new headmistress, but also give the Association members that would be reporting on him the impression that he was a two faced lying little troublemaker who would act like butter wouldn't melt to their faces but pick a fight as soon as their backs turned.

He dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

* * *

He didn't get a detention, thankfully. Hermione spoke up for him, along with a lot of the other students. Ginny was apparently a known troublemaker so the headmistress didn't have a problem believing their accounts. He – didn't much like the way Ginny's face paled by degrees when Ms McGonagall reamed her out about picking fights with S-rankers. She clearly _hadn't_ been of the opinion that Harry was the underage S-ranker despite her bravado earlier, she admitted she thought he was just some random Awakener. Muttering that he wasn't impressive enough to be S-rank, no matter how cute he was. Ginny was escorted away to internal suspension for picking fights, Harry was given a verbal warning for using magic against another student, but praised for his self-restraint in choosing a restraint instead of an attack. Hermione was also reminded that flaring her aura like that could be considered antagonising despite her using it to alert them of the incident instead.

Ron approached to apologise for his sister and welcome him, but didn't stick around long enough for Harry to speak any further to him. Then he had to deal with the likes of Malfoy and the other mages crowding him and asking what kind of spell that was, it wasn't healing magic so he had to be a mage like them, what sort of magic did he use, they didn't even feel his mana rise. Which probably explained why Ron hadn't stuck around, if somewhat depressing.

The mages talked an awful lot at him, he learned a lot about how Malfoy's father was a D-rank Awakener who was in politics and pushing his B-rank Awakened son to become a famous hunter so he would capitalise on him during local elections. Malfoy, surprisingly, hated his father with a passion. He also learned that despite Hermione's warnings Luna didn't mind talking about why she was a long term border, her father had severe mental health problems, the Association didn't think he was a fit guardian for an A-ranked Awakener so she was removed from his custody and placed under theirs. She still got to visit him on weekends which was nice, but she much preferred where she was now. No more eating raw onions to ward off evil spirits and brain hacking radio waves from Russian satellites for a start. And then everyone was escorting him back to the dormitories, Hermione stubbornly sticking to his elbow looking subdued and upset, strangely silent as the mages all clustered around them. If he hadn't been so familiar with her as the Boy Who Lived he might not have noticed, but right now....

“Are you alright?” he asked, ignoring whatever it was that Mandy Brocklehursts was trying to tell him about her summoning magic.

She jerked and looked at him with wide eyes before she suddenly beamed, “Yes, I'm alright.”

“Do you and Ginny clash like that often?” he asked warily, wondering if he should have a word with Ron about his sister. Not that he really had the right to do so here but, damnit, Hermione was nice in this life and the last, if Ginny would stop picking fights he was fairly sure they could be friends. If they wanted to be. If they were _willing_ to be.

She nodded with a sigh. Malfoy scoffed though. “Granger stuck up for Ron, the bitch's older brother, and she kicked off at her,” he explained with a sneer. “Everyone knows you don't fuck with the healers but she's got it into her head that she has to be top dog. You'll find that the fighters will harass the people they think they can get away with doing it to. Weaselette goes after her brother particularly hard. He might be an A-rank, but he's a healer, and fighters don't respect anyone who isn't on their level or on the front line. But he's also her brother, so she gets possessive and won't let him make friends with anyone outside other healers.”

Harry glanced at Hermione who drooped unhappily, “It wasn't so bad while the twins were here. They were assassins in their final year. But they took a bunch of tests to graduate early so they could open up their crafting business,” she explained. “The whole family are Awakened. The oldest works in Egypt, the next in Romania. Percy works for the Association, then its the twins, Ron, and then her. The twins heard about their brothers getting hurt in Raids because of substandard equipment so they went into crafting. After they left, no one was really there to keep her in line.”

He grimaced, “She shouldn't _need_ someone to keep her in line. She's big enough and ugly enough to control herself by this point,” he muttered.

“She's a fighter, what can you expect?” Ernie MacMillain dismissed with a sniff.

The green eyed mage shot him a look, “I'm S-rank. Am I what did _you_ expect?” he asked quiet and pointed.

* * *

Hermione stayed with him the rest of the evening as he unpacked his meagre belongings. He could see she was wildly curious about everything and why there was so little of it or why it was so brand new, but tactfully kept her questions to herself. He played music on his phone and they chattered about classes.

They had normal classes like every school but the replacement hunting class that used to be PE would be split up by classes, they would cover all sorts of Raid tactics too. There would be thought exercises about raids. Survival training – in case a gate went red. And combat training.

“There's a reason we're so far out,” Hermione explained with a grin, “The school actually owns the small chain of islands five miles north-east of here, we take a bus and a ferry to train there where they let us use our really destructive abilities. It takes about half an hour to get there, so we tend to do half-day training events when we go out. That'll be once a week, usually on Saturdays.” She grinned when he looked at her, “Oh yeah. We do school on Saturday too. But it doesn't start until ten. You still get a lie in.”

He snorted a bit, “Good. I'd be annoyed otherwise.” He loved sleep. Ignoring the nightmares, it was often the most relaxed and pleasant part of his day, sleep.

“Oh,” Hermione blurted as she got to her feet, “I don't know if anyone's said it to you yet but – Welcome to Queen Elizabeth's,” she announced with a beaming smile.

Harry smiled at her, “Happy to be here.”

It wasn't Hogwarts, but he could only hope it would be better.

The lack of people trying to kill him was always an upside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually melting. Legit dying. Why is it so hot? OTL
> 
> Test came back negative. I don't have the 'rona. We're all good, my housemates are little dramatic bitches about swab tests and one gave me bruises when he had to have his hand held. I'd day he was trying too hard to debunk any belief in his being gay, but it was the gay housemate who did it so.........
> 
> I won't be covering Harry's time in QEA extensively or in detail. It's just like a normal school only their PE lessons are a bit more intense. That's all. The character interaction will always be more interesting to me than the lessons. And speaking of characters - **I DO NOT INTEND TO BASH IN MY FICS**. Ginny's behaviour is due to a lot of things happening that Harry has no idea of and some he has already guessed at, some that will be addressed, some that will not, either way, this isn't meant to be a bash, just that she's starting in a bad place and thus we will get the opportunity to see her grow further. That's ALL.


	12. Chapter 12

After settling in, the first thing that happened before he even got to see the inside of a classroom was Mister Flitwick, the physics teacher, taking him to the nearest research hospital for a complete check over. His bloods were drawn and sent off for testing, he was put in for x-rays, MRI, and a hundred other tests he didn't know the name of or reasons for. Then he was taken to the dentist for a check up, he was identified to have five cavities in need of tending, and one that they thought was going to need a root-canal and cap but weren't too sure about, he was sent to the hygienist who gave his mouth a thorough clean but left his gums sore and swollen and his mouth tasting of blood. Then he went to an optometrist who also put him through his paces and dripped orange dye into his eyes with a little paper stick and made them feel weird.

By the end of it all, he had an appointment with the dentist to get his teeth drilled and filled the next day, and another appointment with the optometrist to come and pick up both glasses _and_ contact lenses for when he went into dungeons or did PE in a week. He was not looking forward to his appointment the next day. (He needn't have worried, none of the drill bits were strong enough to even scratch his _gums_ never mind his teeth. The cavities were going to have to stay. It wasn't like they could get worse.)

Life at Queen Elizabeth's was incredibly different and yet strangely the same as both Hogwarts and Stonewall. It was a school first and foremost, just like Stonewall it had the typical lessons that every other school had, but the classes were so much smaller allowing the teachers to pay much closer attention. Which took some getting used to. Harry was used to being able to do his own thing in classes as long as he didn't disturb the other students, he could blow off his work if he didn't understand it and ask either Claire or Archie for help later, or look it up in the library, or just ignore it entirely (a lot more common he would admit). He couldn't do that in Elizabeth's.

There was a lot more individual help, and the atmosphere was a lot less formal because the teachers were more involved with the students, but it was also strangely a lot more pressurised. Any perceived anti-social behaviour would be met with a stern conversation with the teacher who witnessed it and possibly a visit to the councillor who would set up appointments for further conversations if he felt they were needed. There was no option to avoid these visits. If a student attempted to blow it off, McGonagall and the other A-rank teachers would show up and _escort_ you. Apparently students had been dragged in kicking, screaming, and spitting fire on more than one occasion.

That was another issue, there was so much casual use of magic. It was enough to confuse him and make him think of Hogwarts and expect a Professor or a Prefect to appear, barking about no magic in the corridors before taking points. But it didn't happen. Students were free to use mana enhanced speed to get to classes on time after spending too long in the bathroom or taking to their friends, mages destroying secret notes with magic after passing them in class, tankers picking up entire rows of lockers or heavy wooden desks to pick up a pencil that rolled under, rangers nailing annoying wasps or bluebottle flies from across the room because the buzzing was distracting (bees were offlimits, Hermione informed him firmly, the honeybee crisis was one they all took seriously and absolutely no one was allowed to kill any).

It was actually a bit of a relief that they had their combat lessons elsewhere so the students could run riot and use their power to the fullest, actually cut loose properly and burn off the excess energy. They were still too young for Dungeons but the islands Elizabeth's had purchased from the government (and petitioned the Scottish National Party before hand, McGonagall was a proud Glaswegian and knew the politics of buying the islands would be sticky, so approached the SNP first before Parliament) were perfect. They were trashed now after a decade of students practising, the amount of mana that years of high ranked teenagers had been throwing around had sunk into the earth and turned it hard crystalline white in places. Even the trees had hardened, their wood turning a deep iron grey, heavily saturated with mana – it was apparently one of the first things a mage did when they joined the school, to take a branch and carve it into a suitable staff or wand for themselves.

The 'Iron Wood' wand he had crafted didn't really do much for him in comparison to the elder wands he already had. The mana present within the grey wood clashed with his own and made it feel like he was trying to push his spells through sand or thick milkshake. But thankfully he had more than enough elder wood to continue making his own and when their Hunting teacher, not someone Harry knew from a past life but someone he knew from magazines in _this_ one, an A-ranked tanker who was famous for having the most red raids on his record, learned of his wood preference, he promised to order some hefty chunks for Harry to carve anything he wanted or needed. There was a lovely box elder stump in the woodworking dry-store ready and waiting for when they had a staff maker come for a guest lecture on crafting.

As for the other students... it was expected that he would befriend the other mages given how they often found themselves in one another's company. But Harry was perhaps a little unseemingly stubborn as he maintained his friendship with Hermione who was absolutely thrilled by his efforts. He attempted to apologise to Ginny and make some overtures towards friendship – only to have her waspishly rebuff him for embarrassing her in front of everyone. She was now in trouble, and despite already being a regular fixture in the councillors offices for the occasional talking to, now she had a permanent mark and weekly appointments for anger management. The top-guilds would never consider a _B-rank fighter_ with a bad attitude, Harry had condemned her to a dangerous life in a minor Guild and near _poverty_. Or so she claimed. Which actually irritated him an awful lot because even on a bad day, minor Guilds earned five times more than Mary or Paul per-raid, had better equipment, better support, _more people_. Just two raids were enough to set his financial problems to order, two raids were enough for him to get a stable place to live and several months worth of rent. Poverty? Not even close.

Attempts to befriend Ron were.... discouraging. The red head was friendly enough, but clearly unwilling to get too close or interact with him too much, which was.... actually heartbreaking really because Harry remembered being exactly the same way when Dudley was at school and discouraging everyone from playing with him. He remembered thinking that if he was the one to refuse friendship, refuse to let people in close, that it was obviously his choice to be alone so it would hurt less. It would also mean that Dudley wouldn't hurt people because of Harry, which was good. So it was obviously better for everyone if he was alone. It was _his choice_ to be alone. It did not make it hurt less.

He got to talk to Paul and Mary fairly often. They were only allowed to visit on weekends, which they had yet to do so, saying that they wanted him to settle in properly before they stuck their oar in. But he was allowed to call them whenever he wanted, and he took full advantage of it, calling Mary fairly often to talk to her about anything and everything under the sun. If Paul was there, she would thrust the phone at him half-way into a conversation and command him to actually talk to Harry. It was so awkward that Harry had to laugh every time it happened because Paul was _not_ a particularly talkative man. Eventually the mage would start asking after the raid team, about what they'd been doing, how was the guy he subbed in for, the one that had just had a baby? How was _Camella?_ (The first time he'd asked that Paul had been confused. The second time he cursed Harry out before muttering something about dinner and quickly changed the subject to ask after his lessons, which had been hilarious.) But despite what Mary thought, there was plenty of communication between Harry and Paul, but the two of them simply preferred to stick to text which was safer given the number of raids the older man went on, it also allowed for him to come back to messages when he was sober afterwards.

According to Mary, he was cutting down on his drinking. She wasn't sure if that was because of his new beau (she doubted it, Camella knew about his drinking before hand and wasn't the type of woman who would tell him to stop – too worried that if things didn't work out between them that he would become even more self-destructive in his drinking habits. Camella was of the opinion that he should want to be sober for himself, not because she told him to be), or because he wanted to be a positive influence on Harry (which she mused was more likely since aside from his _uncle_ , Paul was his only positive male role model). Either way, she wasn't complaining.

Of course, as time progressed, more attention was drawn to Harry for multiple reasons, both good and bad, as to be expected. Because nothing in Harry's life could ever be uncomplicated, _obviously_.

His magical versatility was unheard of, and the fact that he could not only essentially _multiclass_ with the variety of spells and buffs he had at his disposal, the fact that he could then augment other Awakened up several ranks temporarily meant that the school had to very quickly put some more security into action. Students could not be relied upon to keep their mouths shut, and it got out very quickly. Harry's mail hand-out in the mornings was always a seven inch thick pile of letters, all of them invitations and treatises on why he should join this Guild or that Guild. There were even ones from other countries. People promised him everything from the world to the untimely demise of his aunt and uncle in prison. Anything they could think of to curry his favour. Thankfully no one had yet discovered his phone-number, though some people _did_ attempt to pickpocket him in order to get hold of it.

Unfortunately, because of the attention, he also became much more heavily scrutinised for antisocial behaviour – and found himself _also_ remanded to mandatory weekly counselling, same as Ginny. Apparently he displayed significant behavioural key-markers for both depression, anxiety, complex PTSD, and a few other things with long complex names that seemed to boil down to a major self-sacrifical martyr complex, minor self-loathing, and survivor's guilt. And he absolutely could not explain where any of it came from without sounding completely insane.

Why yes, I had a double Awakening and recalled an entire past life that could have never happened because not only did it occur in an alternative reality but it was also twenty years ago before I was even born. That would definitely go down well.

Another downside of this was that he would often run into Ginny while going in and out of his meetings. He tried, he did. He asked how she was, what she was doing, how her family was, if she was enjoying her classes. She snapped at him, but thankfully kept her hands to herself even if her words were more hurtful. But still, it was nothing he hadn't heard before. He let her rant and scream herself out and when the tears started he sat with her, provided tissues, and waited for her to put herself back together.

They weren't immediately friends, but she definitely.... softened. Or rather, stopped trying to be so antagonistic. She started eating breakfast at his table since he tended to be up earlier than the others. And eventually, after a few times when they were joined by Hermione, Luna, and Draco, after they did their best to try and include her, she started joining them at lunch. It was.... like the more she hung out with them, the calmer she became. The more like the sassy Ginny The Boy Who Lived used to know came out. The confident girl who didn't _need_ to snap and snarl and swear but could throw out a single pithy comment and make a man feel three inches high while she swept away.

Ron seemed to watch all this from a wary distance, but the calmer his sister became, the closer he came. Like a stray cat. But eventually both Harry and Hermione were able to lure him into their group. The Ron that joined them was calmer and more level headed than the Gryffindor boy he used to know, kinder and more emotionally aware, but he was also less confident, less steadfast. Not cowardly so much as skittish. Oh well. They had time to work on him, he decided.

It was a good year. The best Harry had ever had in all honesty.

The Dursleys were sentenced rather quickly, Harry only had to provide witness testimony, Dudley was brought into it and, Harry was actually a little disgusted over how quickly he turned on his parents in all honesty. He wasn't _surprised_ when he gave it some thought. This Dudley Dursley had been told to think about his career, about public opinion, about money and social standing, and discovering that his puny cousin was now S-rank and his parents were under arrest for abuse – he cut his losses and covered his own ass by throwing them under the bus. Dudley told the police, the judge, the press, that everything he had done to his cousin was at the order of his parents, that they were evil and they abused him too, emotionally manipulated him, threatened him into hurting his cousin whom he thought the world of, etc etc. Even Marge went down when the whole thing with the dogs came up, her puppy farm was closed down, charges of animal abuse were thrown at her, and she lost the petition she raised to get custody of her nephew. Dudley was now a ward of the Association like Harry, but unlike him, he hadn't been able to swing enrolment at Elizabeth's, no matter what tantrums he threw.

Harry could only breathe a sigh of relief when Draco told him, his father having pulled a few strings as the 'father of the S-rank's bestfriend' to get hold of the information for him. As much as the other mage hated his father, he was completely willing to use the man's money and connections to his own benefit.

Mary and Paul swung around during the summer holidays to visit him and they got to spend some time out and about in Scotland, enjoying the moors. Harry requested permission to take them to the training islands and buffed them both for everyone to have a big ol' melee fight which was a lot of fun. Harry learned that Mary was still in contact with Miss Vass from the Association and they had been going for the occasional coffee morning and shopping trip around London (Paul muttered something about dates at the national portrait gallery and Marry stomped on his foot). Things with Camella didn't work out but both she and Paul continued to be friends – Harry didn't pry, Paul didn't seem particularly keen on explaining but Mary admitted that she was _fairly_ sure it was over marriage and kids. It seemed like way too early in the relationship for frank discussions about that, but Mary just shrugged and stated that it was a good idea that both parties knew what each other wanted out of a relationship before they got in too deep. Camella wanted to get married and have kids as soon as possible, Paul may have been alright with marriage, but definitely not with kids.

Then, in the middle of English, it felt like someone had set off a foghorn very far away. But made out of mana.

Harry ended up interrupting the class entirely by accident when he shot to his feet, head twisted to stare unseeingly at the far wall.

Later that evening it was all over the news and the internet.

A super S-rank Gate had appeared above Redding in California – and no one could get into it.

The dining room was rampant with speculation over why the Gate was there but closed, it was the first of its kind. A Gate that couldn't be entered meant a Dungeon Break was _guaranteed_ because that would be the only way to deal with it – let it break and kill whatever came out. The problem with that was that it had appeared in _America_. It was a massive population centre, to say nothing of California itself. Redding was a major city. The death toll was going to be _astronomical,_ and they only had a _week_ to evacuate and rehouse everyone.

Harry's major issue was...

He'd felt that Gate. When it appeared.

He'd texted Claire to find out when exactly it appeared, and with some calculation for timezone differentials, it appeared exactly when Harry heard that 'mana' reaction. He even slipped back into the classroom and opened up a compass app on his phone to find out exactly what direction it came from – if he drew a line from where he was facing directly across the ocean.... then he was facing that Gate.

He had _felt a Gate from across the planet_.

It was no ordinary gate. What was going to come out of that thing...... it was going to be bad. Forget the S-rank bear break of ten years ago that _decimated_ Iceland. This dungeon break very well had the power to wipe out America, even with their ridiculous number of S-ranks.

He scrambled for Ms McGonagall's office, knocking sharply on the door, and wringing his hands as he spotted Hermione and Draco down the far end of the corridor, coming out of the dining room with smiles when they spotted him. He gave them a sickly smile but quickly went into the headmistress's office when she called him.

“Harry,” his old head of house greeted him, smiling much more easily than Professor McGonagall ever had to see her most troublesome lion. “What can I do for you?”

He swallowed, “I – I need to contact the Association,” he forced out through numb lips, making her frown.

“Is everything alright?” she asked gently, “If there's something happening in Elizabeth's that you're – ”

He shook his head rapidly, “No, no, nothing – nothing like that. No, I – its about the American Gate,” he blurted, wringing his hands, “It isn't – it isn't what they think. _I felt it_. When it opened. I just – I checked,” he explained wretchedly. “Taking timezones into account, I even checked with a compass to make sure, it all aligns. I felt the gate open. And if I could feel it then it's going to be a lot worse than everyone thinks and they need to be _warned_ ,” he explained in an almost panicky rush. America was not as built up as England. England had a population of 68 million, most of it clustered around major cities. California had a smaller population than they did, but if this Dungeon break was as dangerous as Harry _knew_ it was going to be, then it was going to cross state lines and – and – he didn't _know_ American geography but wasn't Washington close by? And Los Angeles? And – and Las Vegas? That was all West Coast right? The West side of America? That was a _lot_ of people.

Ms McGonagall gave him a very long stare before doing something that Professor McGonagall had only begun to do towards the end of his education – trust him.

She reached for the phone and began to dial.

“Hello? Yes, this is Minerva McGonagall of Queen Elizabeth's Academy. Could you please put me through to John Warner? ...Yes I know he's busy. This is an emergency... Thank you.”

* * *

Harry ended up being flown down to London again where he met all of the other S-rankers, and immediately wished Paul or Mary were there to hide behind (which was ridiculous and he immediately felt stupid and pathetic for wanting it). That feeling only increased when he saw the retired Tom Riddle (with a nose, and hair), seventy years old, thin, sharp, wearing black, stood next to the other S-ranked assassins with a thunderous scowl on his ancient face. Siva Yadlapalli, and Lewis Ravendale discussing things quietly between themselves. Siva wearing the sigil of her Guild the Nightblades, comprised primarily of assassins, fighters, rangers, and healers – they focused on precision raids. Lewis was a member of the Trinity guild, they believed that teams should be in threes and balanced, for every tank there should be a fighter and a healer. Assassins should have a ranger and a mage. Mages should have a tanker and a fighter. They were an odd guild but one of the best.

Riddle used to be a Nightblade, which explained why he was stood with Siva. He was the former Guild Master and had handed the reins of active leadership to her, but still found the time to wade in and poke his nose into affairs that weren't his business.

The two S-rank healers were chattering and laughing with one another. Siobhan Sterling and Oliver Lamb both wore their own respective allegiances, Siobhan was attached to the Association, while Lamb was part of Trinity as well.

Trinity and Avalon were the two _largest_ Guilds in the UK, and they had managed to recruit the most S-rankers in the country as well. With the exception of the two S-ranks from the Nightblades, and a small handful from the Association, there was only one other S-rank from a different Guild and, no one particularly took 'Unga Bunga' seriously. They operated as more a raid team of drunk students than a business Guild, but that seemed to work for them. Absolutely no one from Unga Bunga ever wanted to leave – despite a lot of offers, their one S-ranker, a fighter by the name of Laurence Wong, had never even been _tempted_ to leave.

Given how it was _only_ S-rankers in the room, the moment he showed up, there was an uncomfortable degree of interest in him.

“Ignore them,” the only other mage in the room advised him. Hayden Roseblade of the Trinity Guild was known for being an absolute wizard with fire magic, wielding it with enough precision to perform acts that shouldn't have technically possible outside the realms of Science Fiction. When questioned all he would do was shrug and say that having a Ph.D in science was more useful than many would think when it came to wielding magic. “They'll get over it soon enough. So you're our baby,” he continued casually as he gave Harry a thoughtful look up and down.

“Don't you _dare_ Roseblade!” Tom Francis, one of the rangers from Avalon, barked across the room, “He's underage! Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!!”

The mage rolled his eyes, “Just because I dumped your loser ass for a younger model doesn't make me a cradle robber, Tom,” he taunted lazily.

Harry quickly made his escape as the two devolved into arguing.

“For the UK's most powerful,” Bellamy began, only to grunt when Harry whipped around in surprise and threw himself at the tanker in a hug that made him stagger a few steps. He sighed and patted the soon to be sixteen year old's back, hugging him back. “For the UK's most powerful, I expected less drama and more dignity,” he complained once the mage peeled himself away.

Laurence Wong, cheerfully wearing the cartoon cave-man patch that symbolised Unga Bunga, snorted and toasted him with his drink, “You expected poorly,” the Asian man declared happily. “We're all giant fucking messes.” He then winked at Harry, “Present company excluded of course.”

Harry grimaced, if anyone expected dignity from him they were going to be sorely disappointed.

Then he looked at all the other S-rankers in attendance and grimaced further. Alright. Compared to this lot he was pretty sure he could manage. Laurence giggled into his drink, and shared a grin with Paul who only sighed and dropped a hand onto Harry's head to ruffle his hair, and then paused, frowning at him as he did it again.

“You got taller,” he commented in something like surprise.

Harry huffed, “It has been a _year_ ,” he pointed out, aggrieved. He wasn't going to remain short his entire life! That would be entirely unfair. (He was already shorter now than he was as the Boy Who Lived and incredibly pissed off about that fact. Guess the Hogwarts meals had done him more good than he anticipated.)

Paul just hummed, “How are your combat classes?” he asked, knowing that Harry had faced a bit of difficulty with them in the beginning because people were scared to face an S-ranker.

He perked up and happily told him that with the augmenting he was able to buff his friends to his level and that way they could practice safely against each other. He was pretty sure he hated grappling though. The less they did of that the happier he would be. They were also going to be beginning weapons practice soon and the teacher wanted to get him into quarter staffing as they figured a mage should also be able to hit things with the large sticks they carry. Harry was kind of more of the opinion he needed a couple of knives as well though. The more weapons he had, the more options he had.

Laurence cheerfully told him to look into hammers, Unga Bunga _loved_ hammers. As if he didn't know, hadn't seen multiple youtube and tiktok videos of drunk Unga members with frickin' Smash Bros music dubbed in over them going absolutely ape-shit during their training sessions. The Guild had even seen a few of them and gone out of their way to create a Smash Bros stage, put everyone in cosplay, and play an actual game where mages could breathe fire if they grabbed a large plastic flower, and a bunch of other dumb meme-y shit. It was absolutely ridiculous but also hilarious. Capcom didn't even _want_ to sue them afterwards because half the money earned from the stupid video went to them, and the other half to charities.

Their conversation cut off as the Association Chairman walked in with Miss Vass on his heels.

“Settle down everyone,” he commanded firmly. Done was the somewhat nervous and awkward gentleman trying to forge a connection to a child, this was now the head of the most dangerous organisation in the country speaking. Everyone quickly went quiet, put their drinks down, and turned to face him fully. “As of ten thirteen yesterday morning, a Triple S-rank classification Gate formed in the sky above Redding, California USA. As of the moment, no one had been able to breach the gate either through one side or the other. It is an unprecedented situation. Even more so, is the mana concentration was enough that one of our own felt it on the otherside of the planet,” he continued without so much as even flicking an eye in Harry's direction. Several of the S-rankers murmured and glanced to the healers and Hayden Roseblade, assuming it was those who worked primarily with mana who had sensed it. Only the assassins and the Association Healer, Siobhan, looked at Harry.

“Given the fact that the mana concentration was felt as far as the United Kingdom, the USA has put out a call for assistance to all S-rankers around the world. We would like to know who here is interested in assisting them in this Dungeon Break,” Mister Warner announced, looking around the room.

No one had their hands raised, except Harry, who suddenly felt very uncomfortable when the man's eyes landed on him and he _realised_ that he was the only one there who did.

“Mister Potter, you are underage,” he pointed out flatly, drawing attention to him.

Harry flushed but didn't lower his arm, “I know. But – there are exceptions for healers and backliners. I wouldn't be going to fight. But I can heal. And my augmentation magic can only improve people's chances of surviving. An S-rank gate is everyone's problem, no matter the country. And this is going to be a bad one. I want to help.”

He had power. That meant he had a responsibility to others who didn't.

“The boy has a point, loath as I am to admit it,” Riddle complained in the silence that followed. “I'm in,” he declared. “Might as well die doing something worth while instead of wasting away pathetically in my dotage.”

Several other S-rankers agreed after a time, and John Warner sighed as he drew the meeting to a close.

“Very well. Our envoy to the USA is as follows: Tom Riddle, retired Assassin; Oliver Duckering, Avalon Tanker; Susan Scott, Trinity Ranger; Nial Scott, Trinity Fighter; Oliver Lamb, Trinity Healer; Keshia Fitzpatrick, Association Fighter; Laurence Wong, Unga Bunga Fighter; and... Harry Potter, unaffiliated mage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING ANYMORE I NEVER INTENDED FOR HARRY TO BE INVOLVED WITH KAMISH WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU **DOING** FINGERS?!!
> 
> But in other news I finally updated so... yay? Also, now you know what the timeline currently is. About eight years pre-canon 8)
> 
> And meet the S-rankers and their Guilds! 8DD 
> 
> From the **Nightblades** we have: Siva Yadlapalli (Assassin), and Tom Riddle (Assassin) - retired.  
> From **Avalon** we have: Oliver Duckering (Tank), Tom Francis (Ranger), Waleed Saini (Tank), and William Hunter (Ranger)  
> From **Trinity** we have: Susan Scott (ranger), Nial Scott (Fighter) - married to Susan, Oliver Lamb (healer), Lewis Ravendale (Assassin), and Hayden Roseblade (mage) - the only S-rank Mage aside from Harry in the UK.  
> From the **Association** we have: Keshia Fitzpatrick (fighter), and Siobhan Sterling (Healer) - name is pronounced 'She-vawn', like fawn, but with a 'V', because language is fucky and the romans fucking hated the language used in the UK when they came over.  
> And last, but certainly not least, from **Unga Bunga** is Laurence Wong (fighter). And yes, Unga Bunga is generally considered a joke Guild by the others, but it operates like a gaming guild usually does, doing ridiculous and dumb shit but still having each other's backs. They're secretly the most successful Guild in the UK but because no one takes them seriously, no one really considers the fact that they've got the lowest mortality rate and the highest income rate of all. The Gamers are in charge of Dungeon Runs my dudes, they leave no stone unturned and grey-hawk the bodies.


	13. Chapter 13

Voldemort with a nose.

It was fucking surreal.

He even had hair. This was so weird, it was almost _creepy_ to be sat awkwardly in the airport First Class waiting lounge as a plane was prepared for all the S-rankers going to America. As soon as the agreement came from everyone to assist, Mister Warner dismissed the rest of the S-rankers, commanding the volunteers to remain. As soon as they were alone he reminded them that there was a solid chance none of them would be returning from this venture, if there were second thoughts, now was the time to step down. He looked specifically, and intensely at Harry as he said it. Harry stared back, and made absolutely no move to speak. He might have never been through a Gate higher than D-rank, but he knew with certainty down to his bones that the American Gate was bad news, if they didn’t stop whatever came out of that thing, it wouldn’t matter if he was in England or America. It would destroy everything.

When no one stepped down, he ordered them all to update their Wills, say their goodbyes, and put their affairs in order. The Plane to the USA would be leaving tomorrow at noon.

Harry was released into Paul and Mary’s care once again, and they visited a solicitor to handle what few affairs that Harry had. He wrote a Will. The first in either life, requesting that if he had any remains that they be cremated, all of his money and belongings were to be given to childrens’ charities. He wrote letters to his friends, to Paul and Mary, and even to Dudley and the Dursleys. To his friends he told them that he hoped they lived full and happy lives, whether they chose to become Hunters or not – please remember that it is a choice, do not let anyone pressure you into risking your life.

To Paul and Mary he thanked them from the bottom of his heart for rescuing him, for supporting him, and that he was sorry he never got into a position to return their kindness. He begged them to take care of themselves and continue living as best they could, to Paul he told him to stop drinking so heavily and try to get some help, the Association may have a need for a former social worker. To Mary, he wished her luck in her relationship with Ms Vass, whatever may come of it.

To Dudley... He stated that he didn’t think he would ever forgive him for that he’d done, he understood of course, they had been raised by the same awful people, he understood the way his cousin thought. But he also needed to take a good, long, hard look at himself and ask how he wanted to be remembered after his death, and whether or not his actions and attitude would be received. To the Dursleys, he told them how he didn’t hate them, though he doubted that they cared. That was about the best he could say to either of them, that he didn’t hate them. They had made their bed with cruelty and neglect, and now they had to sleep in it.

The next day he was escorted to the airport by grim-faced Association men who kept throwing dirty looks at Paul who ignored them with stiff anger. He had almost attempted to talk Harry out of going in the hotel room last night, he’d pulled him aside, held his shoulders and looked him dead in the eye only for the words to wither in his mouth. Instead all he’d asked was ‘are you sure?’, Harry nodded, and that was that. The tanker nodded stiffly and let him go, he went as far as the complimentary drinks’ cabinet only to freeze as he grabbed one of the bottles before shoving it back inside and closing it up again.

Harry spent the rest of the night chatting to Archie and Claire over messenger, telling them how much they meant to him, he wrote it all down so they would have undeniable physical proof before sending them a voice recording wishing them luck and saying goodbye. Archie called up in tears, practically incoherent between his stutter and his crying, Harry spent hours on the phone just talking to him. Claire sent a single text message at six ordering him not to die. Nothing else.

Hermione sent such a long message it had to be separated into sixteen files, all filled with advice and suggestions on how to survive this, that, and the other, the weak-points of all currently recorded S-rank monsters, and fighting suggestions for him. It was her way of showing her worry. Ginny was like Claire, she just told him not to die. Luna told him he was suicidal and a bit too brave for his own good, she hoped he survived, if he didn’t then she was stealing his Star Wars poster and his hoodie. He messaged back that she was too late because he was taking it with him, she’d have to wait for him to come back to steal it. Ron wished him luck and thanked him for taking care of his little sister. Draco told him he’d better survive because his father was practically bending over backwards to do whatever he wanted just for the chance of having his name connected to Harry’s and he couldn’t wait to tell the old man to shove it the second he tried to cash in. It was so unbelievably petty and Draco that Harry couldn’t help but laugh and say he would do his best.

He felt weird eating breakfast that morning, everyone thought he was going to die but he didn’t feel the same way. If it happened, he certainly wasn’t going to do down easy, it would be ugly and vicious and he would leave claw-marks deep and bleeding in his wake.

Ms Vass was coming with him as his escort and chaperone, he had wanted Paul to come but he wasn’t his official guardian and he couldn’t actually afford his own plane ticket. So after an stiffly emotional goodbye to everyone, he was left to wait with Ms Vass in the First Class lounge with the rest of the S-ranks that had arrived, waiting for their plane to finish fuelling, and for the last of their number to show up.

Voldemort – he should really stop thinking of him like that before he slipped and blurted it out loud – _Tom Riddle_ was a whipcord thin man, tall, his hair was dark grey and white, his dark brown eyes were sharp and observant, and his face was lined with age and war and decades spent as a Hunter. He dressed like someone’s Grandpa which, upon thinking about it, he very well could have actually been! He clearly hadn’t gone completely insane and off the rails, he could be married? Could have children and grandchildren? So weird. _SO_ weird.

Susan Scott was their only female S-rank present, she had a head of thick dark curly hair and grey eyes, she was a tiny woman in her forties wearing ridiculously expensive clothing, even _he_ could tell it was extravagant beyond belief. A white knee-length dress, a pale rose pink pea-coat, and a pair of heels that he had dim recollections of Aunt Petunia drooling over in a celebrity magazine (it probably wasn’t, he didn’t know shoes. But these were high and had a weird carved design in the heel and a strap in the same place so…). Her husband was dressed similarly in a black suit with a black shirt and matching pale rose pink tie, his cufflinks were diamonds the size of his thumb-nail, and he had a gold wristwatch that Harry knew was expensive because Uncle Vernon had growled about how he’d needed to take out a new credit card in order to get one of his own. His hair was cut short and professionally styled, his skin was lightly tanned, and – yes, he was wearing make-up too. Harry felt all together very small and scruffy and out of place (more than he usually did) in his comfortable jeans, T-shirt, hoodie, and trainers. He hadn’t known how long the flight would be and after staying up late last night intended to sleep through most of it.

Sat just behind them was their Guildmate and the only Healer accompanying them, Oliver Lamb. He looked almost Greek with his tanned skin, jawline, green eyes, and curly brown hair. Harry studiously avoided looking at him for fear of getting caught and his face combusting – he was _very_ handsome and Harry was beginning to realise he might be a lot more bisexual than he’d first realised in _either_ life. Thankfully no one had noticed and that was how he was determined to make it stay.

Sat on Ms Vass’ other side was the S-rank Fighter that worked for the UK Hunter’s Association, Keshia Fitzpatrick. Despite the name, he was in fact a man, a very large black man who spoke with a thick East London accent but had a warm gentle handshake and cheerful smile when introduced to Harry. The two of them had spent the car journey talking about video games and cartoons, Harry admitting that he hadn’t had much chance to experience them outside his friends and Keshia recommending a number of his favourites for when they got back, even offering to set something up in the Association rec-room if they both survived. He definitely had to introduce him to Smash Bros.

Oliver Duckering was the only tanker coming with them, he was an affable older gentleman who spoke with one of those highly exaggerated British accents and generally filled the room, or at least the area where he was currently making nice with the airline stewardess. Harry would have thought he was flirting until the man spoke gushingly about his wife and granddaughter – he had called Ms Vass ‘Curly’ when they met and offered Harry a toffee before moving off to shake hands with anyone who would give him the time of day with a booming laugh. What had Aunt Petunia called people like him? There was an elderly couple down the road and the husband was much like him... an ‘Old Boy’? One of ‘The Boys’? It was _something_ to do with being upper-class, a certain age, and part of the social club at the village green.

Laurence was already napping, feet propped up on his suitcase wearing a pair of jeans, trainers, and a band t-shirt that had been washed so often it was illegible, the words and design on the front cracked soft and flaked off over many years. He wore a fuzzy eye-mask with little puppy ears and exaggerated anime eyes as he snored quietly, head tipped backwards in a way that was _definitely_ going to give him a crick in the neck when he woke up. Mister and Missus Scott had yet to stop giving him filthy stink eyes, but it went a long way to helping Harry feel a bit better about his own flight attire, he wasn’t the only one who had decided to be smart about their comfort.

As soon as the Plane was ready, they were ushered onto the private flight, it was probably a good thing because Harry didn’t have a passport, the Association were putting a rush through on it and if he survived it would be ready for his return flight at least. The plane itself was... swanky, like in the Hollywood films. He felt out of place and too dirty to be allowed all over again as he gingerly took a seat close to the back where he hoped he wouldn’t be in the way. Ms Vass huffed a small smile at him, giving his shoulder a little squeeze as she sat opposite and began to point out what the ground crew were doing through the window. He eventually relaxed a bit, enough to ask a few questions, like the little hole in the window which she explained was to help with the air pressure and prevent the windows from popping once they hit a certain altitude and speed.

The pilot made an announcement about how they were going to lift off so everyone should fasten their seatbelts, something Harry had done automatically when he sat down. He was pretty sure he did not like lift-off. Too bumpy and sickening. He was quite sure he didn’t like flying much either, _especially_ when he wasn’t in control of the craft. Peanut was quick to manifest and demand affection in an effort to distract him.

He slept for most of the flight, curled up in his seat with Peanut guarding his sleep, a warm fuzzy weight in his lap. He woke up when dinner was being served, the stewardess cooing over Peanut who seemed a bit put off by the attention but obediently put up with it as she pet him. He ate, and as much as he wanted to watch whatever film was being offered on the complimentary tablets, he decided instead to get going on the homework he had been assigned. It was weird, he didn’t want to, but the memories and thoughts of The Boy Who Lived spurred him on. He was being given a second chance to do better with his education and his future, and he wanted to, he was old enough to see the merit of it and _want_ to do better.

But try as he might, now that he’d slept, his brain was conjuring up various scenarios and ideas.

This Gate was going to be bad. But what was going to come out of it?

A horde of enemies? One huge enemy? Giants? Insects? Wolves? Elves?

He hummed, staring out of the window, pen tapping idly against his English lit homework as he turned what little information he had over in his head. The Gate was in the air... that said something. He hummed unhappily and reached for the tablet and connected to the internet, google image search was quick to bring up pictures of the gate and Harry turned to a fresh page in his workbook to jot down ideas.

The Gate was large, but not _that_ large. He’d feared something four times the size of that to be perfectly honest. Fifty metres round and a deep, _bloody_ shade of red and black, it hovered in the air above the city like a bruise across the blue sky. It didn’t matter what side people tried to get in by, it wasn’t possible, it they tried to enter from below then they bounced away, if they jumped from above they just fell through it as though it weren’t even there.

Gates didn’t open in ways that would hamper whatever came out. They were always large enough for the monsters within, specifically the Boss, and they were usually positioned to cause maximum chaos when they did – high concentrations of people. Which meant that whatever was going to come out of the Gate, the largest monster was usually the Boss, which meant it was going to be fairly huge, but also likely flight capable. Everything coming through was likely to be flight capable.

“Ms Vass?” he questioned, looking up at the blonde haired assassin, “What S-rank Gates have been seen with flying type monsters?” he asked once he had her attention.

“Flying type?” she echoed, frowning slightly.

He nodded and showed her the pictures, “Gates don’t tend to appear in places where the Monsters are disadvantaged. It’s always big enough for what goes through and positioned to benefit whatever comes out. Do you remember the Goblin break that happened at the activity centre with all the tunnels and climbing frames?” he asked, watching as she grimaced and nodded unhappily. No one had seen the gate because it had been within the zipline tower. It broke in the middle of summer. Three hundred people died before they were able to conclusively declare the incident closed, hunting the goblins had been practically impossible with how they vanished into the tunnels and went up the climbing frames. “So, if the Gate is in the air, doesn’t that mean the monsters would logically be able to fly?”

She hummed, “A good shout. Off the top of my head I can recall an S-rank gate from New York that had giant hornets, Russia had an incursion of monster bats but they were able to deal with it before the Break, I can’t approve of their methods but it was effective,” she admitted with an angry grimace. Harry didn’t say anything, just what methods _had_ they used? “Flying types are relatively unknown to be honest. I believe Tibet had to deal with thunderbirds at one point but the Chinese Association stepped in to handle that, nearly restarted the cold war between their countries in the process,” she admitted with a shake of her head. Harry grimaced. Archie had explained to him during History when he hadn’t understood some of the more political nuances between countries that Tibet and China were in something of a cold war wherein China were adamant that Tibet belonged to them, and Tibet were refusing that and stating they were their own nation and refused Chinese leadership. He could definitely believe that things were said and tempers became inflamed.

Wasps, bats, and thunderbirds.... That couldn’t be right. His brain itched uncomfortably and unhappily.

He looked up from his notebook with a frown, “No dragons?”

“No, thank god. They haven’t been recorded, and you’ll forgive me for hoping they don’t exist,” she said with a weak smile.

Harry hummed unhappily.

Dragons...

The Boy Who Lived remembered many dragons. The naturally occurring ones like the Hungarian Horntail, the Norwegian Ridgeback, the Ukranian Ironbelly, all fearsome beasts, but all very small and stupid and easily contained. And then he remembered the _others_. Fearsome, malicious vehicles of destruction who looked at the world with cold cruelty and evil cunning. Creatures that would aim for women and children, for healers and augmenters first. Who would look to cut off support, demoralise, and then destroy.

He pushed the thought away and instead turned to the other options.

Insects, other mythical birds, or other flying type enemies.

He was planning to stay at the back of the action, provide healing support, shields, and augmentation. But how else could he help?

He looked down at Peanut as the wolf licked his chin.

...More summons. More summons meant he could keep the healers on the backline and send the summons out to grab the injured and tow them back? Summons that could also take hits for other people. Would it be bad to ask to accompany a few Guilds on a raid in order to obtain more summons? Would they be _willing_ to bring a sixteen year old with them?

“Ms Vass?” he cringed a little to disturb her again, but she gave absolutely no indication of being annoyed as she looked up at him once again, “Is there a possibility to go on a few Raids before the Break? I think I might be more useful if I had a few more summons,” he explained, gesturing to Peanut.

Sharp interest suddenly had her put her tablet down and lean forward, “More summons? Explain.”

He grimaced, recalling that they hadn’t actually covered his summons during his assessment in London back when they first met. “Uhm, I made them. Out of monsters.” Her eyebrows went high and her gaze narrowed, Harry looked down and avoided her eyes, “I snuck into a hunt without a licence and killed them and when I was pulling out the magical cores one of the raid team noticed a weird mana reaction. So we experimented a little and – I can make summons, depending on how much mana I put into the corpse before I pull it back out. All of them came from D-rank beasts, but Moro is A-rank and Peanut here is E-rank.”

She rubbed her chin, “And you think you can make more?”

He shrugged, “Pretty sure. They don’t have to be strong, I was thinking of using them as shields and to bring people from the field back to the healers instead of having them go out to the injured and get caught in the crossfire.”

She nodded, “How many could you make?”

Moro stirred inside him with slight indignation and even Peanut gave her a disdainful look, Harry shrugged, “Um, probably as many as I have mana for. I’ve never really been in a position to find the limits.”

“No, and I imagine you wouldn’t have been aware of the ability if you hadn’t been... impatient,” she concluded carefully, being unusually diplomatic with her words. He peered at her in confusion.

“It means you were a dumbass for going into a Dungeon illegally,” Laurence grunted from the otherside of the plane, eyemask still firmly in place, draped across his seat like a crumpled towel. “Not that anyone can say shit since we’ve all done it, and probably worse,” he continued lazily.

“Speak for yourself,” Susan Scott sniffed indignantly.

“Says the lady who broke a waitress’ arm for spilling a drink,” the Unga Bunga fighter retorted darkly, lifting his eyemask just enough for a baleful red glowing eye to be seen as he looked over at her. “Man, I wish I’d been there, if only to break _your_ arm, you stuck up bitch.”

“Now, now, young Suzy, young Louie,” Mister Duckering blustered affably. Oh no, he was the _nickname_ kind of Great Uncle. “Hardly the time or the place, we’ll have to settle down for now, wouldn’t want the plane to crash? Ah-hah-hah-haa!” he guffawed carelessly. Grumpily, the two did as they were told and Ms Vass relaxed in her seat with a near silent sigh and a smile of gratitude towards the old gentleman who flashed her a sly wink before boisterously begging a brandy off one of the stewardesses who was only too pleased to do so after he diffused the fight.

“I’ll speak with the American Association,” Ms Vass finally said, turning her attention back to Harry, “See if there are any Guilds who would be willing to have us as tag-alongs. Since we’re helping with the Break, I can’t imagine any of them would object to the gathering of... materials. Unless it damages the mana crystals?”

He shook his head, “No. I can create summons even after the crystals have been removed and it doesn’t affect the quality of the corpse, I don’t think. We didn’t have much of a chance to check but nothing seemed off after I’d done it. I think it’s more... my mana fills the creature’s body and absorbs what remains of their... soul? Echo? And then I pull the mana out and it forms a summon.”

“Can you do that with people?” Oliver Lamb the healer asked, climbing over the back of his seat to look at Harry over the top of Ms Vass’ head. The sixteen year old sank down in his chair unhappily.

“I’ve never – ”

“But do you think you can?” he repeated.

He looked away, “...probably,” he admitted quietly. “Awakened definitely. I’m not so sure about normal humans. And I don’t want to find out,” he added in a slight snap, hugging Peanut to himself and looking out of the window, ending the conversation.

* * *

They were greeted by a large number of men in black suits with shiny shoes and sunglasses and a stern woman with short grey hair in a pink-skirt suit. He would have automatically thought to compare her to Madam Umbridge from the Boy Who Lived's memories if she didn't put him so viscerally in mind of a hawk as she swept brown eyes across them and extended her hand to Ms Vass in a handshake.

“Welcome to California. I'm Julia Gibbs with the American Hunters' Association. I'll be your main point of contact while you're with us until the Break,” she informed them shortly and professionally before snapping her fingers, the black suited men surging forward to collect everyone's baggage. The man who aimed for Harry stopped immediately when he flinched back behind Laurence and Mister Duckering and Peanut began to snarl in his arms. Mister Duckering just laughed and praised the suited man on moving so swiftly and efficiently, here, take this, and shoved his carry-on luggage at him before winking at Harry and dropping a large overly warm heavy hand on his shoulder and loudly suggesting they get a move on, lots to do.

One day, he would be able to handle himself. One day.

He sighed quietly and drew the bristling Peanut against himself a little more tightly. He wasn't the Boy Who Lived. He had vague memories of his life, snapshots, glimpses of a film, nightmares, _horrible_ nightmares, and an awful lot of magical knowledge. That didn't mean he _was_ the Boy Who Lived, or had to be. Of course he wasn't going to be as well put together (or traumatised to shit) as his counterpart was at his age. Harry had been stuck with the Dursleys for a few more years, had to deal with a Dudley who had Awakened, but the Boy Who Lived had to deal with _Hogwarts,_ and Voldemort, and the Ministry at this point, and really.... that was a lot worse than anything the Dursleys threw at him.

They stepped out of the air-conditioned airport to _hordes_ of reporters, a sea of cameras, news crews, and screaming people waving signs and placards, jumping up and down. It was a _wall_ of solid noise that had him staggering backwards with a yelp.

The Scotts' ate it up with a spoon, grandstanding for everyone, shamelessly approaching the people, Oliver Lamb in tow as they spoke to the press, stood still for selfies with screaming girls and boys. Mister Duckering stuck by him thankfully.

“Lot of people treat S-rankers like movie starts, Harry lad,” the gentleman told him solemnly. “This will be a common fixture of your life one day. I'd suggest you look into some of those PR courses I hear you can find online, or work for someone who's hired a really good team.”

Harry grimaced, “Can't I just avoid them?” he asked grumpily, much to the man's amusement.

They had to wait a good half an hour before the Scotts' finished lapping up the attention and they were ushered into the long line of waiting shiny black cars and driven off. He supposed now he understood why the Scotts' had worn such fancy clothing and make-up, they knew there would be press. But.... the flight was several _hours_. Why not sort all that out on the plane?

They were taken to a very swanky and lovely hotel where Ms Gibbs presented them with their room keys, the suited men hustling their belongings to said rooms. She advised them to freshen up because there would be a meeting in an hour in the ballroom, her men will escort them downstairs once they'd finished cleaning themselves up.

Harry – had no nice clothes. He hadn't thought to bring any and really neither had Paul.

The hotel room was far too big and lavish for him, he felt dirty and small and not allowed again and he was quick in the frankly uncomfortable wet room shower (terrified that he was going to slip on the fancy tile and crack his skull open, or break his neck, and then everyone would see him naked and dead). All he really had that he could wear was his uniform and since he _was_ unaffiliated it was probably the most official he was going to be able to get away with.

Would it be too much to wear the tie? Or should he stick with the shirt and tie but ditch the blazer?

There was a knock on his door and he let Ms Vass in. She had changed into a new black suit, this one with trousers, and her heels were much lower and black, her hair was pulled back into a neat bun instead of the ponytail she had favoured for the plane ride.

“How are you doing Harry? Not feeling too overwhelmed?” she asked kindly.

He squirmed, “I – I'm fine.” He had given thought to asking if she could arrange for him to go into a normal room but didn't want to cause a fuss. It was just a room, a _big_ room, but he could deal with it. He would do his best not to make a mess and make life difficult for the cleaners. “I didn't think to bring fancy clothes though, should I wear my school uniform and ditch the blazer? Or keep the whole thing?” he asked uncertainly.

She grimaced, “Ditch the blazer. Bad enough we've brought you along, but people don't need to have it shoved in their faces that you're a _school boy_. They get a bit funny when they're reminded that very few countries have an age limit on their hunters. We're already seeing some backlash online for breaking our own laws and allowing you to attend this event.”

He wrinkled his nose, “I'm not apologising.”

She ruffled his hair, “I'm not expecting you to,” she chuckled, “Come on, get your shoes on. We'll head down together and I'll make sure you're fed and tucked up out of the way of the Guild Masters before this thing kicks off.”

He quickly did his tie and stamped into his school shoes. The hotel was uncomfortably swanky as they followed their suited escort back down to where this 'ballroom' was supposed to be. The room in question was huge and very, _very_ tall, two floors at least, and looked like it was taken directly out of a film with wooden panelled walls, floor to ceiling windows framed with heavy red velvet drapes with gold fringes, a wooden floor, a raised 'stage' at the far end of the room, and a hundred or so small round tables with white table cloths across them, each one bearing a small flag in the centre.

Ms Vass dropped a hand onto his shoulder, making him start and look at her, “I had a word with Ms Gibbs before I headed upstairs, about your request to go on a Raid to obtain a few extra summons. She recommended I speak to the head of the Scavengers' Guild, Thomas Andre. He should be a very tall gentleman with blond hair and black tattoos, can you see anyone like that?” she asked glancing around the milling room with the massive number of hunters from every corner of the world.

Harry shook his head, “I'm a bit short,” he admitted. However... “But if he's a Guild Master then he must be strong, yeah?”

She nodded absently, still peering at the large number of people, “Yes. He's supposedly the strongest of all the American S-rankers.”

He took her head and headed to the strongest concentration of mana he could find, they were doing a good job of spreading it out so that no one would notice them, but that was a trick the Boy Who Lived had figured out towards the end (end of _what?_ Seriously, this was getting annoying now!). He led Ms Vass out of the ballroom and to the bar directly opposite the smoking lounge where they quite easily saw a huge blond man with a woman on each arm in a garish hawaiian shirt in a booth surrounded by empty bottles and pint glasses.

Ms Vass' hand tightened in his a split second and when he glanced at her she quickly amended her expression from scorn and disgust to polite professionalism.

“Excuse me, Guild Master Andre?” she enquired primly, letting Harry go and stepping forward.

Ember red eyes cracked open to look her up and down with blatant interest, making Harry bristle slightly – and immediately draw those eyes to himself. He tensed but refused to back down. Ms Vass had been nice to him, he wouldn't let anyone disrespect her.

Thomas Andre grinned, all teeth, “Speaking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'll admit it, Oliver Duckering is based on my Great Uncle John, one of those old boys that could fill a room and whenever you hugged him you'd walk away with either a sweetie or a £ note in your hand. 
> 
> AND INTRODUCING THOMAS ANDRE. Yes he's still a massive asshole. He's a massive asshole to everyone unless they prove that they're worth him NOT being an asshole. So. Yeah. Sorry. You'll probably end up hating him before long lmao but like with Ginny, I don't intend to bash. Harry's just very biased lol


	14. Chapter 14

Ms Vass’ smile was perfunctory and a little stiff, “I am Vass from the UK Hunters’ Association, Mrs Gibbs recommended I speak to you regarding my charge going on a few Raids before the Dungeon Break next week,” she explained, gesturing with an open hand towards Harry.

Andre’s face soured a little and he sniffed dismissively before freeing an arm from one of his women to grab a still full bottle of some kind of alcohol, “Raids aren’t a daycare, lady. Do I look like a babysitter?” he demanded scornfully before draining the entire bottle in one long, noisy, pull.

Ms Vass’ smile didn’t drop, “No, indeed not. However, he is S-rank, and one of his unique abilities is creating summons out of Monsters. We wish to obtain a few more to assist in the Dungeon Break,” she explained tightly, her smile twitching wider as he looked up at them, bottle still at his mouth. Harry watched as cinder red eyes, more orange and human than Voldemort’s ruby reptilian red had ever been flicked from the assassin to him and then raked up and down his body.

“Summons?” he prompted, lowering the bottle and sitting forward. 

“Summons,” Ms Vass agreed simply as the two girls that had been hanging off the american seemed to realise that this was a conversation they shouldn’t be there for - that or Andre nudged them under the table to go away. “It will not affect the magical cores nor the body of the monster in question, and the rank of the raid in question doesn’t matter either. Aside from the summons, we have no interest in your Guild’s profits. Will you allow us to accompany your people on a Raid?”

He rubbed his chin, looking between them and Harry could feel his mana moving now and shuddered in discomfort as it rolled over his skin. He shoved the touch away with his own mana, firming it just above his skin so it couldn’t touch him before shifting behind Ms Vass and expanding it over her as well. Blond eyebrows jumped up and a slow toothy grin began to stretch across his bearded face.

“Sure. We have an A-rank prepared for the day after tomorrow. Think you two can handle it?” he challenged.

Ms Vass’ smile was beatific, “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she assured him before withdrawing a business card from her pocket, “My contact details, and licence verification. I will inform the American Association and handle the paperwork,” she informed him before turning and placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder to lead him away.

“Kid, stick around,” the huge blond said, grinning as they both turned to him. “The lady can fill in the paperwork while I brief you on how the Scavengers’ deal with things.”

“I am afraid that isn’t possible, Guild Master Andre,” Ms Vass informed him with a polite smile, “Where my charge goes, I go.”

“You hold his hand while he’s in the pisser too? Lucky,” he jeered and Harry bristled furiously.

Ms Vass tightened her grip on his shoulder and gave the blond her sweetest smile, “Jealous?” she cooed and Harry spluttered, whipping around to goggle at her as she smirked and steered him out of the bar as Andre roared with laughter behind them.

* * *

The big event in the ballroom was a meet and greet buffet meal with a grand speech from the head of the American Hunter’s Bureau along with the Vice President, the room was filled with hunters from all corners of the world, all of them S-ranks, press were behind a corndoned line and were not allowed to accost the hunters unless approached first. They were given the front row for the speeches which was understandable as this was apparently being televised.

The Scotts’ made a show of themselves, dragging Oliver with them as part of their team, he handled it with a lot more grace than Harry would have been able to. Mister Duckering presented himself for a quick interview and a few pictures, he was his usual affable and cheerful self, asking if any of the press had been allowed to peruse the buffet table? No? He’ll direct a few of the servers their way, it would be absolutely criminal for them not to get a taste of such delicious food, really, his compliments to the catering team really! Riddle ignored them entirely, even when nudged by the ever cheery Mister Duckering. Laurence made his own appearance, being incredibly selective on which of the press members he spoke to and it seemed to be mostly from only a handful of publications that he apparently liked.

It was only when he got back and slumped back in his seat that Ms Vass finished her drink and sighed, “Our turn,” she lamented, making Harry look up from his plate of buffet snacks in confusion. She smiled a little apologetically, “I hadn’t anticipated press being at this event or I would have given you a quick crash course on how to handle them. But it will be better for us to approach them on our own terms rather than let them decide their own narrative.”

He almost dropped his battered prawn, “Talk to the press?” he squawked, she nodded, “What do I even say?!”

She ran a hand through his hair, “I’ll veto any inappropriate questions immediately, so pause a bit to gather your thoughts. If you’re not comfortable answering anything just say so, if they get pushy about it just say no comment and if they don’t let up, then I’ll end it. If you want to stop at any time, just put your hands behind your back and flap one. I’ll make our excuses,” she promised.

Harry swallowed before he nodded and put his prawn down, no longer feeling hungry. In fact, he now felt quite queasy as he got to his feet and trailed after the assassin towards where the press suddenly realised they were coming closer and began to rapid fire take pictures of them. He very,  _ very _ nearly hid behind her. The sound of shutters going off was crazy loud and rapid. 

Ms Vass smiled as she got to them, “We only have time for a few questions, ladies and gentlemen, please be gentle, this is Mister Potter’s first foray with the press. Let’s not scare him off permanently now,” she joked, causing a scattering of chuckles and giggles amongst the reporters even as the photographers continued to go nuts. She pointed to one of the ladies in the front row,

“Mister Potter, how do you feel surrounded by many of the world’s strongest and most experienced hunters?” she asked, practically shoving a recording device forward over the shoulder of a man who was already outstretched.

Harry wet his lips but since Ms Vass didn’t immediately veto the question he gave it some thought, “I’m… pretty nervous to be honest. The meeting the UK Association held amongst the S-rankers was the first time I’d encountered anyone of S-rank, being here with everyone else is intimidating, but it’s also reassuring that the world has this many powerful people to protect them against Dungeon Breaks. It’s good,” he admitted, trying not to wring or twist his fingers noticeably in front of him. God, this was so nerve wracking. He hoped he gave a good answer.

Ms Vass nodded approvingly even as more voices went up amongst the reporters, she selected a man at the back.

“You are the youngest S-rank currently known world wide, what are your plans for the future? Will you be staying in the UK, do you have a Guild you have your eye on?” he called, and if Harry thought the interest in his first question was high this was actually intimidatingly so.

“I - will be focusing on my education for now,” he managed to choke out, glancing nervously at Ms Vass who only smiled encouragingly. “I like Queen Elizabeth Academy, I’ve made a lot of friends and the classes are interesting. When I have learned more about being a hunter, the association, laws, and various Guilds, I will consider where the future may take me.” He very  _ nearly _ said ‘whether he became a hunter or not’, but decided to keep his mouth shut. The only reason the UK Association were being so nice to him was because they didn’t want him to go anywhere else or  _ do _ anything else but become a hunter for them - they probably weren’t even particularly happy about the thought of him working for a Guild instead of the Association.

“Are you scared?!” a woman demanded from within the crowd before Ms Vass could select someone else.

Harry wobbled a half smile, “Yes. I think it would be rather stupid of me  _ not _ to be afraid in all honesty. This is the first time an S-rank gate hasn’t allowed anyone into it, this is the first gate that has put out enough mana to have been felt half the planet away.”

“Then why are you here?” the same woman demanded, “By the UK’s own laws you are too young to be on this raid!”

Ms Vass opened her mouth to interrupt but Harry beat her to it, irritated, “Because I can help! Being scared isn’t an excuse to sit back and do nothing! An S-rank Gate is everyone’s problem, no matter what country it’s in! It isn’t America or Russia or England against the monsters, it’s  _ humanity _ against them! Of course I’m scared, I don’t have the experience of anyone in this room, but I’m good with barrier magic, I can heal, I can help. And if even one person survives because of my intervention then that’s good enough. We’re - we’re all in this together. And I think a lot of people have forgotten that,” he admitted, looking down as he twisted his fingers together. 

They had forgotten it in the Boy Who Lived’s world too. Until the end. When there hadn’t been enough of humanity left to worry or care about things like borders or countries or skin colour. 

“So you think Awakened who decide not to become hunters are abandoning their duty to protect humanity?” the woman persisted.

“That is enough!” Ms Vass snapped, “We will no longer be taking questions from you, madam, persist and I will escort you out myself.” The woman subsided furiously, mocking the assassin under her breath. Harry scowled at her, shifting his head to get a look at her press-pass, making note of her name ‘Jordan Yates’ of the National Enquirer. It wasn’t a publication he knew of, but then again, she did have an american accent, he didn’t know any american news companies outside Huffington Post that Claire sometimes read from, and the New York Times. 

Ms Vass chose a few more people who asked a couple of softer questions, one man asked how he felt about his family going to jail and Ms Vass tried to veto it only for Harry to shake his head and reassure her he didn’t mind. He answered honestly, he was glad they went to prison, especially if it opened doors within the Association to rescue other teenaged Awakened in similar familial situations before anyone got hurt. He was sad that it put his cousin in an awkward position, and that many people who had been friends with the Dursleys felt as though the rug had been pulled from under their feet, his teachers who must have felt guilty for not realising. He’d come to terms with it a lot at Queen Elizabeth’s with his therapist. Yes he had therapy. No he wasn’t ashamed, why would he be? He wanted to be his best self, and everyone knew child abuse could cause deep mental and emotional scars, if he was going to deliberately put himself in danger as a hunter, best he get familiar and comfortable with maintaining his mental health so he didn’t go off the deep end and hurt anyone in a flashback or meltdown. Was there a special girl in his life? He didn’t have a girlfriend no, or a boyfriend, but he had a lot of friends whom he loved and hoped he would see when all this was over.

“Mister Potter, word on the street is that you can augment and boost Awakened, is this true?!” a man in more casual dress called, filming him on his mobile phone. His press-pass declared him as from some online news group that Harry didn’t recognise, but his T-shirt had the same company name and a  _ meme _ for the logo.

No point in keeping it a secret.

“Yes. It is primarily why I’m here,” he admitted with a quirked smile, “My augmentation magic can bolster a D-rank fighter to the point where he can fight on par with an A-rank assassin.”

They went  **_insane_ ** .

* * *

The headlines the next day were an absolute chaotic mess of interviews and statements and photos from everyone attending the banquet. Harry’s comments regarding augmentation received much acclaim, along with this impassioned retort about how dungeon breaks were everyone’s responsibility and it wasn’t any one country against the monsters, but all of them. Embarrassingly,  _ that _ had become a meme in the short few hours since it was aired.

The amount of hatred and support he received from that clip was staggering. Also included was a massive furore regarding his abilities that resulted in Mrs Gibbs appearing at his hotel room.

“Mister Potter?” she enquired crisply, in a pure white skirt-suit with a icy blue silk blouse, as if she didn’t know exactly who Harry was by the fact that he was in the room assigned to him. She waited for him to nod uncertainly before gesturing to him to come with her, “The Deputy Director of the Federal Hunters’ Bureau is waiting.”

Harry frowned as he quickly grabbed his trainers and followed her, “Is everything alright?” he asked, concerned.

She glanced at him, but her expression seemed to thaw ever so slightly, “There is no emergency, Mister Potter. He would just like to meet and speak with you about your augmentation ability. It has caused something of a stir.”

“Oh,” he said before grimacing, “But other hunters can do it? Tankers augment their defence all the time, and healers can give speed and vitality buffs as well. It isn’t unusual.”

Mrs Gibbs didn’t shrug, but she tilted her head a little dismissively as she led him down the corridor, “Indeed. I am sure it will be explained to you when we get there.”

She led them to a relatively small meeting room, very posh, very nice, Harry felt dirty being there all over again, it was a feeling he was getting increasingly fed up with as she ushered him inside. Red carpets, cream walls, gold trimming, a beautifully varnished wooden coffee table laden with afternoon tea, and a three-tiered stand of snacks, scones, and cake. And two sofas facing each other, one with a black woman in a cream suit, and a blond haired man with clever deep-set blue eyes, and a fox’s smile.

Ms Vass was not in the room. He frowned a little.

“Where is Ms Vass?” he asked, peering over his shoulder as if expecting to find her just stepping into the room.

“This is a private conversation, Mister Potter, I’m sure you can understand how seriously we take matters of National Security,” the unknown blond man assured him with a smile as he got to his feet. “I am Deputy Director Michael Conner, a pleasure to meet you,” he said, holding a hand out to him.

Harry took it uncertainly, “Nice to meet you too sir, uh, I’m not sure I - should be talking to you without her to be honest,” he admitted, glancing over at the door behind him. “She’s my legal guardian while I am here.”

Mister Conner smiled and shook his head, “It will be fine, Harry. Do you mind if I call you Harry?” he asked and he found himself shrugging a little, he didn’t care much in all honesty. “This is just a chat about your abilities. You see, you are the first augmenter of your kind that we have found. Please, sit,” he encouraged, gesturing to the sofa opposite.

Harry sat down uncertainly, glancing to the tea spread in front of him and then the black lady opposite, he then looked at Mister Conner before looking back at her and then down at his knees. “My kind?” he echoed pointedly before looking up at him, “What do you mean, ‘my kind’? There are others?” he asked.

The black lady chuckled, “You are sharp. Yes. I am Norma Selner, I too am an Augmenter.”

Mister Conner smiled, “Hence Ms Vass’ absence. The very existence of Mrs Selner is one of America’s most closely guarded secrets. To that end, I am astonished the UK would allow you to speak of your abilities so brazenly to the press.”

Harry shrugged, “Everyone at school knows. I had to practice it somehow, and all of them are recruitment targets so people find ways of getting information out of them. Everyone in England already knows, and it’s why I’m here. I didn’t see a reason to keep it quiet.”

“Oh? I thought you were here as a healer?” Mister Conner prompted in surprise as he began to make himself a cup of tea.

“I can heal too,” he admitted, picking at a bleach stain on his knee. He was wearing one of the few pairs of Dudley’s old jeans that he actually liked. They were baggy and soft, so he tended to wear them for just slobbing around or doing chores. “I planned to stay on the back line, use my summons to bring the injured back to the healers, help them, but also maintain shields and barriers to protect them and give speed and strength augmentation to as many as I could.”

Mrs Selner set her teacup down quickly, “You can augment so many?” she demanded, astonished.

He nodded, “As long as they have my mana in their system, yes.”

They both suddenly relaxed, “A short term buff then, not a permanent one,” Mister Conner concluded with a much more natural smile. “That makes things far less complicated.”

“Complicated?” Harry echoed warily, suddenly wary. He did not like the sound of that.

Mister Conner nodded, and took a sip of his drink, “Yes. Mrs Selner has the ability to  _ permanently _ improve the ability of an Awakened, however, the process is tiring and she can only do this a certain number of times a year.”

“And each individual will only be able to improve so much,” the lady took over, now much more relaxed and confident in herself with the revelation that Harry could not provide permanent augmentations. “It is a process that occurs in three steps, in total, it is said to be able to improve an individual’s power by up to twenty, or even thirty, percent in total,” she bragged smugly.

Harry nodded slowly, “Okay. Um, thank you for telling me? Did - did you want to practice with me? Compare techniques?” he asked the woman, scratching his head and looking between them. “I still don’t quite understand why Ms Vass couldn’t be here if this was all we were discussing…”

Mister Conner chuckled, “Oh to be young and innocent. You have a very refreshingly honest viewpoint Harry. Unfortunately, Mrs Selner’s existence is kept a very closely guarded secret for her own safety. If any other country were to learn that there was such an ability, she would be the target of far too many high-profile assassination or abduction attempts that it would put the entire Federal Bureau in danger.”

He frowned, “Then why tell me?” he asked. “I’m just a kid.”

“A kid with great potential,” Mrs Selner told him with a smile. “At first we believed you to be a power similar to myself, but a multi-talented short term augmenter is still worth more than his country’s weight in gold. I don’t think you quite understand how remarkable your ability is. Nor how valuable,” she explained, looking at Mister Conner as he collected a brown envelope from one of the suited men standing guard in the room.

He put it on the table and slid it towards Harry, “These are American citizenship papers,” the blond haired man informed him with an easy smile. “Normally the process takes upwards or two to three years, but if you sign these then it will go through immediately. No need for the red tape. In America, you will be completely exempt from age restrictions, allowed to join in on any Raids you desire, and enjoy both fame and freedom you will not find anywhere else in the world.”

Harry stared at the envelope without making a move to touch it.

“I already said I planned to finish my education,” he reminded the man woodenly.

“America has some of the finest universities and colleges in the world, if you wish to pursue a degree in your personal time absolutely any of them would be vying for the honour of your attendance,” Mister Conner told him grandly,  _ dismissively _ , and Harry felt himself beginning to bristle as he identified the fact that an ‘adult’ was yet again dismissing him and his desires as they ‘knew best’.

Mrs Selner set her tea down, “You needn’t make the decision right now, Harry,” she soothed knowingly, her dark eyes meeting his with kindness. “Moving to another country is a big step and an incredibly scary one. You have had a great many large and intimidating steps this last year, take your time before you decide whether or not you wish to make this one.”

He felt the hard line in his back begin to relax, “Thank you, Mrs Selner.”

She smiled, “No need to thank me. I know how it feels to leave everything behind to look to a new, bright future, not knowing if it was freedom or entrapment I was pursuing. Many feel the same when given this offer,” she admitted with a small sigh, “But they always agree to it in the end,” she said with a pleased chuckle.

“Always?” he echoed.

Mister Conner nodded, “Yes. Many find that once Mrs Selner has assisted them in moving past their limits as Awakeners, the power rush is a high unlike anything in their lives before. They cannot resist the promise of more power.” This… this was starting to sound rather… dodgy.

Mrs Selner chuckled at him, “All of them had your eyes at first, that doubtful gaze. You know more than most how invigorating augmentation magic is, but once you feel mine, you will have no choice but to cling to it.”

Harry stared at her with increasing discomfort as he fought to keep his face as blank as he would if faced with Aunt Marge.

She leaned forward, eyes beginning to mist with the beginnings of her mana, “As you know, all Awakener’s have an upper limit. No one can exceed it. You can temporarily give them the mana and ability to use it, but it burns out like rocket fuel. What I do is expand the gas tank. Would you like to try?” she asked playfully, painted lips stretching into a welcoming smile, “As a gift, one augmenter to another.”

Harry vaulted over the back of the sofa and backed away towards the door, “No thank you!” he refuted, taking the two by surprise, “I would really like to go back to my room now, please and thank you,” he informed them rapidly, glancing at the two security guards who were stood in front of the door. “May I please be excused?”

Mrs Selner got to her feet, “I - is everything alright?” she asked, bewildered.

“Fine! Fine! I would just like to go now!” he told them firmly, glancing again to the door.

Mister Conner looked between them, “What in God’s name is the matter with you, Harry?”

He spluttered, “Me? What the hell is the matter with you?! It sounds like you’re offering me fucking  _ drugs!! _ No thank you! I do not want it!” he exclaimed.

Mrs Selner spluttered in offence, “Dr-drugs?!”

Mister Conner’s mouth dropped open.

The door burst open and a  _ furious _ Ms Vass in a pair of seats, a baggy t-shirt, with her blonde hair loose to fall over her shoulders, barefoot, physically shoved the two guards out of her way. “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS, DEPUTY DIRECTOR CONNER?!!” she thundered furiously, violet mana crackling across her body and lighting her eyes up with anger.

Harry ducked out of the room to wait in the corridor.

He would stick with his own kind of augmenting - it was less like a fucking drug addiction from the sound of it!

* * *

That utter clusterfuck almost had Ms Vass marching him back onto a plane to the UK she was so furious. It took a great deal of effort and grovelling on the part of the Deputy Director to calm her down, meanwhile Harry was moved into Mister Duckering’s room, the affable tanker cheerfully offering him the space as he was getting a little lonely by himself. They made Harry a nest on the sofa which he was a lot more comfortable with than the frankly ridiculously huge bed that he’d been given in his original room. 

Harry received a very sheepish apology from Mister Conner who admitted, upon further examination of their talk, and asking Mrs Selner’s protection detail for their views, it was completely understandable how Harry would come to the conclusion that he did. He then also went onto praising him for his reaction before apologising profusely and promising that the United States would always have their doors open for him in the future - no pressure.

Harry had been prepared to put the whole thing behind him and forget it had even happened since he was going on the A-rank raid with the Scavengers’ Guild the following day, but when he and Ms Vass showed up, the first thing out of Guild Master Andre’s mouth was:

“Hear you were paid a visit by Mrs Selner, how’d you like it?” the giant asked with a wide grin, “We don’t have an S-ranked mage in the Scavs, if you join, I can get your name on her list.”

Ms Vass bristled furiously, but Harry went down a different track, “My teachers said you should say no to drugs, Mister Andre,” he told the blond seriously, making sure to pitch his voice loudly enough to be heard. 

The man blinked, staring down at him in disbelief, Harry did not blink, or break eye contact. 

He threw his head back and roared with laughter, and Harry breathed a near silent sigh of relief, only to yelp when the tanker slapped his back rather heavy handedly, making him stagger a little.

“I like you kid. You got  _ balls _ .” He then tightened his grip on Harry’s shoulder until it was painful, bending down and grinning at him with bloody cinder red eyes and bared teeth in a parody of a grin, “Talk to me like that again and I’ll crush them,” he said before letting go and sauntering off, still chuckling.

Harry grimaced and rubbed his shoulder in pain, that was going to leave a bruise. Guess that even though he had higher magical power that didn’t exactly translate to being physically more durable. 

“Are you alright?” Ms Vass fussed, gently rubbing his shoulder and scowling after the man even as cold sweat ran down the side of her face.

Harry drew one of his elder wands and quickly dealt with the deep tissue bruising, “Yeah. Fine. Are  _ you _ okay? You’ve gone pale,” he pointed out.

She smiled shakily at him, “There’s not many S-rankers in the world I would say completely eclipse me. Unfortunately Guild Master Andre is one of them. At least with everyone else in the UK I am reasonably certain I could kill them in an ambush with one blow. Him? Not a chance.” She drew a shaky breath, “He could kill me with the flick of a finger. And I can’t say he’s the kind of man who wouldn’t.”

He scowled at the blond’s retreating back before turning to her, “Then let’s not give him the chance,” he declared before he began to chant. The augmentation buffs rained down on her creating a visible mana reaction that drew a lot of stares from the various Scavengers, particularly a katana wielding S-rank Fighter who was watching with huge eyes and an open mouth, no doubt able to feel the way Ms Vass’ mana went from high A to S, and increased with every spell Harry dropped on her.

There.

If Andre tried to hurt her now, he was going to have to actively try to kill her to even leave a bruise.

A few of the other hunters approached to ask him questions, anyone who asked for a buff got them but he didn’t bestow as many of them on any one person as Ms Vass except for the healers.

And then they went in.

A large red stone castle corridor greeted them - teaming with vampires and undead.

Harry lit up.

_ Humanoid summons! _ They would actually have the  _ hands _ to carry people back to the healers and even wield weapons if they needed to cover someone’s back! It also meant they could help with the evacuation of any civilians who were too stubborn to leave their houses (He’s heard that Americans were particularly bad for that sort of thing, staying in their homes even when there were flood/forest fire/tornado warnings because it was their homes and they weren’t letting anyone tell them what to do, etc).

He and Ms Vass protected the back-line as agreed upon in the contract that they had written up between the Scavengers, the Bureau, and themselves. Harry occasionally sent a shield to cover someone’s back, he shot lightning at one undead gargoyle that had crawled out from the mouldings overhead and attempted to drop onto one of the healers.

It was all very neat and efficient. The Scavengers slaughtered  _ everything _ in the Dungeon up to the Boss room before they collectively turned around and began to head back out to go and bring in the mining and the rendering team who would bring all the corpses and magical cores out.

Harry meanwhile took his chance, under Mister Andre’s curious eyes, and Ms Vass’ expectant ones, to make some summons.

He looked for the humanoid ones, figuring he should make as many higher-level ‘Moro’ type summons as possible, and then as many lower leveled ones as he could stomach for the sole purpose of extraction and support. He plunged his hands into one of the Lamia monsters, a female naga type monster that was a closer cousin to vampires than nagas due to the blood-drinking and nocturnal sun allergy. He pushed as much mana into her body as it could tolerate and then yanked it all back out to the tune of Ms Vass gasping while Andre whistled in surprise as golden light filled the chamber and the lamia straightened up - five times larger than she had been while alive.

“S-ranked,” Ms Vass concluded, looking down at her mana-reader, “She’s higher leveled than Moro, was that on purpose?” she asked looking at him.

He nodded, “Yeah. With her coils, she should be large and strong enough to hold a number of enemies down and still. That’ll give time for extraction teams to move the wounded out of the way. She can also use her body as a shield,” he added, smiling at her as he felt her pride at the duties he had given her and what they meant to him. He would always hold the preservation of life more highly than the destruction of it, thus giving her that duty meant he had given her what he viewed as one of the most important. She was practically preening even as he felt Moro grumble within him, her light flickering as if to remind him that she had been the FIRST of his summons, thank you.

He rubbed his chest with a small smile, no, he wasn’t about to forget her or the rest of the pack any time soon. They had been his protectors and support since he’d first become a hunter, and they would  _ always _ be there for him. She settled, suitably molified, and just in time too as the lamia vanished into golden mist, returning to him to settle within his ribs with the rest of the pack.

He rolled up his sleeves, he had an entire Dungeon of new toys and no spending limit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lololol, the whole scene with Madam Selner the first time she appeared really DIDput me in mind of a drug deal, trying to get him hooked by offering a freebie so he'll sell his soul to it later. Kind of like how people get hooked on cocaine.
> 
> I promise we will get to Kamish soon! But these scenes were important for a number of reasons lmao

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Unique Quest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26249929) by [bluegrass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass)




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